


New Tricks

by Yuripaws



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - BDSM, BDSM, Bondage, Bottom Katsuki Yuuri, Bottom Victor Nikiforov, Breeding Kink, Cock Tease, Collars, Consensual Kink, Developing Relationship, Dom Katsuki Yuuri, Dom/sub, Dominant Masochism, Fetish Club, First Love, Fluff and Smut, Foot Fetish, Heavy BDSM, Humiliation, M/M, Masochism, Master/Pet, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Heartbreaker Katsuki Yuuri, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pet Play, Pining Katsuki Yuuri, Pining Victor Nikiforov, Power Bottom Katsuki Yuuri, Praise Kink, Puppy Play, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Rough Sex, Sadism, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sex Toys, Smut, Sub Victor Nikiforov, Top Katsuki Yuuri, Top Victor Nikiforov, Viktor Suffering, background seungchuchu, viktor's foot thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2018-12-14 04:42:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 48,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11775726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuripaws/pseuds/Yuripaws
Summary: In all Viktor's years as a pet, he's never had a master quite like Eros.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've always wanted to expand on the handful of BDSM fics I've written but it never occurred to me to just... make an AU lmao 
> 
> I've been in the scene for years so I'm super excited to start this! I don't have a definite plan on where to take things but I guess we bout to find out.
> 
> Needless to say, this gonna be ~real~ spicy.

The club is alive -- a wild and growling beast, a throng of blood and sweat, pulsing to the primal beat of guttural and hypnotic music.

Music that's far too fucking loud, Viktor thinks, trying not to wince at the vibrations in his skull. He straightens and stretches languidly from where he's perched on the edge of a high curtained alcove in the VIP section, tapping the heels of his boots impatiently against the sleek wood floors. The man who'd brought him up is nearly passed out on the velvet sofa, piss-drunk and probably shot-up. Viktor removes his grubby hand from his lap delicately, wiping his fingers off with a slight look of disgust.

He's bored. Very bored. 

It's always the same thing at Exhibition each week. The same simpering subs. The same dour doms. Occasionally, Viktor finds someone interesting to play with, and the night is much less disappointing than usual. But that never lasts long. Viktor's a very picky pet, and any master that enters his life often finds themselves exiting sooner than they'd anticipated.

Like this mess here, Viktor thinks, casting the drunk man one last disinterested look before hopping to his feet and sauntering over to the balcony's banister. Viktor had spent a grand total of one session with this dom -- if he can even be called such. The man had tried, bless his soul. Viktor isn't an easy one to tame. He sort of wishes that he were. He'd love nothing more than to fall to his knees at the feet of someone powerful, someone with an aura that takes his breath away and makes him weak. Someone who could simply strip him down to absolutely nothing with a single glance.

And that's all it is, really. That idea of being taken, of having something taken from him. Of giving something to someone at their word, at their whim. Viktor can't even remember the last time anyone had made him submit completely. Nothing and no one seems to excite him. At all. And so he suffers through lackluster scenes and boring foreplay and lukewarm sex in the hopes of finally feeling _something._

Not that many doms had even made it very far with him. Viktor isn't the sort to stick around if he can sense something going nowhere fast. And with that thought, he slips away further down the balcony, running his fingers over the smooth metal of the banister as he peers at the club down below. The man he'd just left behind isn't getting any tonight, so Viktor might as well start scoping out any new takers.

It's not desperation, he tells himself firmly. He could have anyone he wanted. But he doesn't -- he doesn't want, but he _wants_ to want. And so he searches. But not in a way that makes him obvious, of course. He'll sit pretty and observe, and anyone who might be worth his time may have the great privilege of allowing their eyes to rest upon him.

It's far from Viktor's first time at a fetish club, this club in particular, and he spots familiar faces immediately. The first one he picks out is twisted in a pain that borders on ecstasy, and Viktor can hear the crack of the whip over the pounding music. It's coming from the station the regulars like to refer to as The Spread Eagle, and the man bound to the whipping post is a testament to its name. His limbs are stretched wide, his head thrown back as the thin leather comes down on his shoulder blades, leaving scores just shy of bleeding. A masterful hand, Viktor thinks, impressed as he watches. It isn't exactly good etiquette to draw blood in public. Though, Viktor adds with a small smirk, watching the bound man cry out in agonized pleasure, Chris certainly wouldn't mind.

Almost as though hearing his thoughts, the man looks up at him, and Viktor can see his green eyes gleaming from across the club. He beams at him and winks, jerking his head as though to invite him over, but Viktor just shrugs and looks away. He isn't in the mood for a beating, even from the skillful Master Masumi. Chris is welcome to hog the post all he likes tonight. Viktor is looking for something a little more subtle. He can feel it deep in his veins, the need to be controlled in a way so low-key that it's nearly as thrilling as being flogged in the middle of the dance floor.

He lets his eyes continue to wander, fighting down his increasing disappointment. There's the club owner, Georgi -- The Sleeping Prince, as he so dramatically loves to be referred to when he's on the clock -- and Mila, preparing to perform a paired burlesque dance on the main stage. Normally, Viktor would have joined his roommates, as they often let him work for tips whenever he felt like it. But he'd declined this time. Putting on a spotlight-stealing show and having dozens howling after him frantically is nothing new. And 'new' is exactly what he wants.

New, he thinks, his eyes scanning the club again, something new. Someone new.

They're always there, up against the walls. Or at the bar. Or hovering near the bathrooms, or near the exits, as though waiting for a sign to bolt. Averted eyes, crossed arms, boring outfits. And it really is the outfits that are a dead giveaway. Exhibition likes to pride itself on its selectivity -- dress right or get out. Newbies tend to push that line often, opting for basic tight leather and cheap netting, nothing too revealing, but not exactly streetwear, either. This makes them even easier to spot.

Teasing baby kinksters isn't usually Viktor's style, but he's so incredibly bored that he might consider flirting a bit, and as he makes his way down the grand staircase from the VIP section, he makes a beeline for the bar. The wallflowers he passes along the way hardly catch his attention, as he had expected. A woman who can barely make eye contact, because she's glued to her phone, pretending to text someone. A man in awkward conversation with the man beside him, though neither of them can quite look each other in the face. One of them happens to glance at Viktor as he passes, his face in shadows, but Viktor's sure he can see his mouth hanging open as he watches him go by. Viktor can't help but smirk. Give them time, they'll get used to it.

But Viktor doesn't have time. He wants someone now, and he always gets what he wants.

He settles at the bar, but the bartender passes him over. He knows that Viktor's waiting. Waiting for the inevitable swarm of people offering to buy him drinks. It doesn't take long for the first to approach, and although his shy stutter is endearing, he isn't quite Viktor's type. He's not the first Viktor has declined tonight, and he certainly won't be the last. After the third attempt, Viktor's about to give up and move elsewhere, maybe to the second bar, when he suddenly becomes aware of someone beside him.

It's the wallflower who had stared at him so boldly as he passed. That boldness seems to have evaporated, because he's steadily avoiding Viktor's gaze, even though it's directed right at him. How long has this man been standing here next to him? Viktor hadn't noticed him at all. He lets his eyes sweep over him curiously, finding his stiff and forced indifference sort of intriguing.

He's a bit shorter, with feathery and messy black hair and large half-rimmed glasses. His outfit is predictably plain -- tight leather pants and an unbuttoned black silk shirt. Just barely dress-code. His chest isn't exactly hard to look at, though, leanly muscled like the rest of him, and his face is even easier on the eyes. What Viktor can see of it, anyway, as the man still refuses to look at him. There's something about him that's soft and hard all at once, the gentle slope of his cheek offset by thick and somewhat severe eyebrows. His mouth is set in a nervous line, but Viktor has the sneaking suspicion that there are many other shapes it could take on.

Those lips move now, pressing against the glass he's clutching, and Viktor watches his throat work his drink down slowly, hesitantly, hypnotically. Viktor can't seem to look away. The man seems to have no problem doing so, however, and Viktor has no idea how or why. Most men would be on their knees by now, begging for him to take a closer look. But this man seems intent on ignoring him.

Not intent enough to move away, however, and Viktor feels a thrill of satisfaction as he nearly chokes at his approach. Viktor leans over slowly, his smile friendly but his eyes mischievous.

"Haven't seen you around here before. First time?"

It's unusual for Viktor to be the one to start the conversation, and it's even more unusual for the person to brush him off.

"Yes."

The man finishes his drink and hurries away, and Viktor gapes at him in disbelief as he goes. The bartender snorts loudly as he collects the empty glass, and Viktor turns to glare at him.

"The hell's so funny, Yura?"

Yuri, his third roommate, cackles wickedly but says nothing, moving on down the bar and shaking his head. Viktor huffs loudly, turning his attention back towards where the mystery man had retreated. But he's out of sight now, lost among the crowd, and as hard as Viktor looks -- without trying to be _too_ obvious, of course -- he can't seem to spot him again.

"Great," Viktor mutters, his frustration growing alarmingly fast. Of _course_ the smallest bit of excitement he'd felt all night had slipped away from him, probably never to return again. Oh, well. Plenty of fish. Sure. Definitely. Without a doubt.

He accepts the next few drinks offered to him almost out of spite, and once he has a nice buzz going on, he nudges his way through the crowd, pausing to watch the last of Georgi and Mila's show. They've really got everyone worked up, Viktor thinks, glancing around at writhing bodies and waving dollar bills. He almost wishes he could join in their excitement. Despite the vodka making its way nicely through his veins, his melancholy is growing stronger by the minute. What the hell is wrong with him?

The dance floor soon resumes its previous state, and as the music starts up again, Viktor isn't surprised to feel a hand grope his ass. He isn't surprised, because he knows that aside from bumbling newbies, only one person in this club is audacious enough to touch him without asking first.

"Hello, pretty pup," Chris purrs in his ear, squeezing him again. Viktor throws him a haughty look that crumbles into despair immediately. He can't even pretend to play at their usual games. Not with the image of the mystery man's retreating back forever etched into his skull.

"Oh, _Christophe_ ," Viktor says mournfully, placing an arm around his friend and leaning against his shoulder heavily, "I'm a _wreck._ "

"Well, yes," Chris agrees cheerfully, twirling him around and leading him in a very suggestive dance. "I knew that. What angry lover have you scorned, now?"

"I'm the man scorned, I'm afraid," Viktor says with a sigh. He pauses to swat at Chris' wandering hands before continuing. "I just met someone. We're in love, but he doesn't know it yet. What do I do?"

Chris cocks his head, his many earrings and bits of facial jewelry glinting in the flashing lights. "Well, have you actually _spoken_ to him? Where is he? I'll be your wingman!"

This sounds like a terrible idea, but Viktor realizes that he's far more desperate than he had thought when he agrees eagerly and without hesitation. Chris grabs his arm and starts to drag him off, and Viktor doesn't protest. He hasn't even described his mystery man yet, but he knows that Chris will somehow find him.

"I've got a nose for that good dick," Chris often tells him. Viktor has never had reason to argue with this.

The man isn't anywhere on the dance floor. He isn't at the second bar at the other end of the club. He isn't at the waxplay station, or at the shibari station, or even watching the sub currently being flogged onstage. He isn't in the VIP section upstairs, though the drunk man from earlier is finally stirring, so Viktor hurries off while Chris remains to scan the club from above. 

Viktor returns to the dance floor, his nerves getting the better of him. He'd rather lose himself in sound and dance than wait anxiously against the wall for any signs of this man who refuses to be found. Besides, maybe he'll get lucky and find someone who makes him forget the man entirely. Right, he tells himself, the night isn't over yet. Get a hold of yourself, Viktor Nikiforov.

His phone goes off suddenly, and he nearly drops it in surprise. Chris told him he'd text him to let him know if he'd spotted the man, and when Viktor sees the message -- _turn around_ \-- he whirls on the spot wildly, nearly knocking over some poor unsuspecting bastard. Viktor's about to shoot Chris a nasty response for tricking him, when suddenly he sees him.

The man's shirt is completely undone now, starting to slip off of one shoulder, and his cheeks are so flushed that for a moment Viktor can do nothing but stare, absolutely stunned at the sight. This man looks completely different now. He's been drinking, that's for sure. There's no other explanation for the look of pleasure on his face, or for his wild dancing, or for the fact that he's currently being sandwiched between a dom and his sub, the two of them ravaging the man's body with their hands and mouths. Viktor feels a searing jolt of jealousy, but before he can decide what to do about it, the man looks directly at him.

The world seems to come to a screeching halt for a moment, and Viktor is trapped in place by the blinding glare of glasses under strobe lights. He feels a fire course through him, feels something thrilling and new and entirely unknown, and suddenly he can't breathe. He's not sure if he wants to. He thinks he'd very much like to die right now, murdered on the spot by the heat of this man's gaze.

If Viktor hadn't known better, he'd say that the man had been about to take a step towards him. But he'll never know for sure, because his view is suddenly taken up by an unpleasant sight -- the wasted dom he'd abandoned upstairs. Whatever his name is.

"Leaving Master all alone? You're a bad boy, aren't you, Pet?"

"You're not my master," Viktor says sweetly, neatly sidestepping out of his grasp. His gaze darts around until he catches the eye of a guard he knows well, and a simple jerk of his head is enough to have him on his way over to kick some ass.

Bless you, Beka, Viktor thinks gratefully, watching the guard grab the very much still inebriated man by the arm and escort him out. Well, that's one problem taken care of. Now, back to --

The mystery man is gone. The couple he'd been dancing with has already picked up a new toy to play around with.

Viktor's about ready to give up. This just isn't meant to be, then. He's meant to spend the rest of his life humoring unsatisfying masters and their cheap and boring games until the day he dies, he supposes. So much for finding someone who excites him. Guess he'll go fuck himself.

The music is too loud, the people too irritating, but the night is too young, too fresh, and it's too early to go home. The only place Viktor thinks he might get some peace and quiet is the Kiss and Cry -- the private booths at the back of the club. The things that go on in each booth range from private lap dances to gentle aftercare to full-blown fucking. Though the latter is generally considered bad etiquette, it happens, and no one really tries to put an end to it. Still, the booths tend to be much less rowdy than the club itself, so Viktor makes his way towards them, praying for a miracle.

He stalks past closed curtains, the sounds behind them at once exciting and sickening. He can't help but feel a little envious, but quashes that thought immediately. He doesn't need _that_. He needs quiet. He needs to be alone. He certainly doesn't need the things he glimpses between the opened curtains of much less shy booths. Bare chests, long legs, gleaming eyes, soft sighs, and the sound of vibrations, the sound of flat objects whistling through the air to strike sensitive flesh. No, he tells himself stubbornly, don't think about that. Peace. Quiet. Any place where you no longer have to search for a face that refuses to be found.

One of the last booths seems quiet, the curtains half drawn and the candle inside burning low. Someone must have left it behind, because Viktor can't see anyone in the dancing light of the flames. He realizes his mistake the moment he steps inside.

It's him.

Of course it is.

He's sitting half in shadows, so still that Viktor wouldn't have noticed him had it not been for the glint of his glasses. They flicker at him now as his head jerks up, and Viktor stands transfixed in the entrance, staring stupidly.

"Uh," he says suavely, "sorry, I didn't know this one was taken."

There's a short and awkward pause before the man answers, his voice low and slightly slurred.

"It's not. Come in."

Friendly, but with an undertone of something that somehow can't be denied. Viktor wouldn't dream of it, at least, and he lets himself in, drawing the curtains closed without thinking. He pauses, unsure what to do next. It's a strange and uncomfortable feeling, this sudden uncertainty. This tension. This helplessness.

"You can sit, you know."

Viktor does so immediately, seating himself across from him. The candle flickers on the small table between them, slowly but surely dying. Viktor also wants to die. He can feel his mind start to scream into the silent void as the two continue to stare at each other.

"Who are you?" Viktor asks suddenly. This mystery is getting to be too much for him. He's the sort to act now and think later, and his racing thoughts aren't doing him any good at the moment. He wants to know everything about this man. Who he is, why he's here, and why he's been running from him.

"My name is Eros," the man says simply. Viktor grins at this, feeling a bit of his unease melt away. Typical newcomer, having to create an alias for himself. Viktor's been there and done that, and everyone knows who he is now. Of course, the man's name might actually be Eros, but something about his slightly nervous demeanor makes it easy for Viktor to see right through him.

"I'm Viktor. Pleasure to meet you." He makes sure his voice comes out in a low and seductive purr, and he swears he can see a bit of color come to Eros' already flushed cheeks. It's unfairly alluring, that shade further bloodied by the flames before them. He wants to take a much closer look.

"So," Viktor continues, leaning forward, "let's finish our conversation, shall we? You said this is your first time here. How's the fetish life treating you so far, Eros?"

To his surprise, Eros doesn't bolt again. He looks him right in the face, and Viktor can see his eyes glowing a warm red in the firelight. Something about those eyes seems to pierce straight through to Viktor's very soul, and he tries his best not to shiver.

"It's... interesting," Eros says, finally. Viktor has nearly forgotten what he'd even asked him, and he scrambles for something to say to keep their conversation going.

"Why'd you come here? Why'd you want to give this life a try? Are you looking for anything?"

Too many questions, he hisses at himself, _idiot_ , stop babbling at him!

But Eros doesn't seem bothered at all. In fact, he smiles a bit, and it's surprisingly somewhat shy. And very cute. Far too cute. Viktor hopes his own face isn't becoming just as flushed.

"I've always wondered what it'd be like. Joining this sort of thing, I mean. I've always kind of wanted to. So my friend and his dom finally convinced me to come out here tonight with them. I guess I should thank them, because I ended up having a decent time after all."

"That couple you were grinding on?" Viktor asks quickly, immediately regretting it and hoping the jealousy in his tone hadn't been obvious. Eros blushes harder, but doesn't look very embarrassed.

"Yes. They kinda helped me out of my shell a little bit."

Just a little bit? Viktor thinks, remembering the look of rapturous lust on his face. Viktor has a feeling that the alcohol had done most of the work. And it must still be at work, because Eros' smile becomes rather wicked now, completely unabashed.

"And you? Was that your master who grabbed you back there?"

"I don't have a master," Viktor says reflexively, and immediately something in the air seems to shift.

"Oh," Eros says softly, eyes slowing running up and down Viktor's body. Viktor takes a moment to allow this. He knows how good he looks tonight -- his black skin-tight latex leotard, the front open and slitted to reveal creamy pale skin stretched tight over a nicely muscled chest and flat stomach. His nipples are exposed between the slashes of sleekly shining fabric, and their gold rings gleam in the light of the candle. They match the glint of his bellybutton ring, and Eros' gaze catches it eagerly. Viktor is half tempted to let him know what else is pierced. He spreads his legs a little wider, deciding that leaving things completely to the imagination would be boring. Eros eyes his bulge with great interest before his attention gradually wanders back to his face.

"Are you looking for one?" Eros asks, his words slurring thickly. Viktor feels his own words come out just as thick, and remembers that he isn't exactly sober, either.

"Why? You interested?" He winks at him outrageously, and it takes him a few seconds to process what he'd just said. He feels his stomach drop and his face flush as Eros' mouth parts for his tongue, and Viktor's eyes follow the path they trail over his lips. Slowly. So slowly. Viktor's heart starts to pound harder. Harder. Harder.

The candle goes out.

They're plunged into darkness, only just barely illuminated by the lights in the hall right outside the curtains. Viktor can see Eros' glasses, and the vague outline of his form. It isn't enough. He wants to see him. Closer.

"Viktor," Eros says, his voice low, "come here."

Viktor obeys without the slightest hesitation. Eros calls to him like a siren, like a light in the dark, and suddenly he's on his feet, nearly knocking over the table and its now useless candle as he scrambles forward. But before he can settle next to him on the booth seat, he sees the shape of Eros' hand coming up, gesturing at him to stop. Viktor freezes on the spot, waiting.

"No," a voice so soft but so effortlessly commanding. Viktor recognizes that tone, but never before has it had the effect it's having on him now. He knows what Eros wants without even having to await his next order.

He sinks down to his knees in front of Eros, looking up at him in wide-eyed awe. How has this man enthralled him so easily? Does he even know what he's doing? The smell of booze on him is still strong, and now that he's much closer, he can see him trembling slightly. Yes, this man is completely new to this. So why is Viktor, a seasoned pet of several years, cowering before him with his tail between his legs?

"Good boy," Eros whispers, and Viktor shudders _hard._

Oh. _That's_ why.

Eros reaches out hesitantly, fingers stopping just shy of Viktor's head. There's an electricity crackling at the tips, and Viktor can feel himself start to vibrate.

"May I pet you?"

God, _yes_ , Viktor almost whines, but instead he swallows thickly and nods. Steady fingers work their way back through his silky silver hair, and when Viktor feels short and strong nails scratch at his scalp, he melts into a useless puddle. This seems to give Eros a slight boost of confidence, as his fingers are now underneath Viktor's chin, tilting his head up so that their eyes meet.

"You never answered my question."

"And you never answered mine," Viktor shoots back, suddenly defiant.

Eros only smiles. His fingers trail lower now, slowly encircling Viktor's neck. Gently, very gently, he squeezes his smooth throat.

"You'd look so lovely with a collar. Be my pet, Viktor?"

Viktor's brain must have shut down, because all he can do is stare at him, open-mouthed and wide-eyed. _What?_ Had he heard him right? This man really _is_ drunk. No one ever asked Viktor to be their pet. They waited until they were presented with his favor and given the honor of having their services as a dom requested. Who the hell is this guy? And why are the words _yes, God, fuck, take me,_ on Viktor's lips?

He's gradually becoming aware that there's a commotion outside the curtains, and someone bursts through excitedly, causing the two of them to recoil from the blinding lights. Eros recovers quickly, perking up at the sight of the intruder.

"Phichit! What are you --"

"Yuuri!" The man in the catsuit named Phichit shouts, his words slurring together almost unintelligibly. "Seung-gil wants to go home already. He says he'll drive your car, he just wants to leave." Phichit lowers his voice from a dull roar to a hushed yell now. "He's maaaaad at me! Can you believe it? Yuuri, let's go!" He doesn't even seem to notice Viktor as he gestures wildly towards the exit.

Eros -- Yuuri, rather -- casts a final look back at Viktor where he's still kneeling on the floor, completely dumbstruck. He nearly stumbles as he gets to his feet, but his friend catches him and draws him away before Viktor can even touch him.

Viktor slumps against the booth seat, staring at the fluttering curtains. His heart is fluttering as well, pulsing with a feeling he's never known before in his entire life.

Oh, he's _fucked._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to update! And thank you everyone for your interest! QAQ

"Come on, you promised!"

Yuuri groans from his very cozy spot on the sofa, rolling to his side to avoid Phichit's sullen pout. Seung-gil likes to refer to it as his hamster face, due to the way his cheeks puff out adorably. But Yuuri isn't supposed to know that. Seung-gil would have to kill him.

"Drunk promises don't count, you know." Yuuri can hardly remember what he'd had to drink at the club last week, let alone anything he might have sworn on his grave. And, knowing Phichit, he'd probably had him done so.

Well, if that's the case, Yuuri would much rather die than go back. Exhibition hadn't been a _bad_ experience, but he can't remember enough to know if it had been a good one. The last thing he remembers clearly is having a drink at one of the bars. Several drinks. Several shots, most likely. He'd been nervous, of course, and the amount of people who'd tried to speak to him that night had made things so much worse. One person in particular had really set him off, but thinking of those flashing blue eyes makes Yuuri's stomach churn, so he buries that thought away thoroughly.

He wishes he could burrow into the sofa just as thoroughly, because he can still feel the power of the hamster glare burning through his skull. There's no use fighting it, and he sighs wearily as he struggles to sit back up.

Phichit's in a brand new catsuit, this one a dark metallic green that's open from his throat to his navel. The ring there glints brightly, reminding Yuuri of something that his brain loses its grasp on immediately. He thinks it sort of reminds him of the club, and of the many people who'd had interesting piercings. Not having any at all makes Yuuri feel a little boring, but Phichit often reassures him that his tramp stamp is totally badass and makes him Not Lame.

But he hadn't exactly felt very badass at the club, and so he refuses to go again this week.

At least, that's what he tells himself. Because Phichit is very convincing, and Yuuri has the sneaking suspicion that he's about to drag himself off the sofa and trudge to his room to throw on something a little more fetish-friendly than his pajama pants and a baggy shirt.

Phichit's persuasion levels have reached their peak, and by the time Seung-gil arrives to pick them up, Yuuri is nearly ready. He looks himself up and down in one of the living room mirrors nervously, running a hand back through his hair. He thinks he looks okay. Leather shorts and a netted long-sleeved shirt. Definitely more exciting than the outfit he'd worn last time. He hopes.

He has just enough time to throw a modest coat over himself before Phichit drags him out the door, chattering excitedly as they rush to Seung-gil's car. Yuuri's incredibly grateful that the neighboring townhouse is vacant, though he keeps his head down in case any other nosy neighbors across the street may be peeking out their windows. Phichit, not having bothered with covering himself, doesn't seem to care, yanking the backdoor open and graciously waving Yuuri inside.

"Hey, maybe you'll get lucky and find your man again, hm?"

"I told you," Yuuri says, a bit exasperated as he slides into the backseat. "I still don't know what guy you're talking about."

Phichit hops into the passenger seat now, darting forward to give Seung-gil a quick peck before stage-whispering in his ear. "Yuuri _still_ can't remember the hottie he had in the booth last week!"

"Neither can you," Seung-gil says gruffly, but Phichit only shrugs and laughs as they speed off towards the club.

It isn't a very long drive to Exhibition, but Yuuri tries to take as much time as he can to mentally prepare himself. No, he still can't remember whatever 'hottie' had been with him in one of the private booths -- the Kiss and Cry, as they were called. Right. He'll have to get used to all this new terminology if he wants to be a better dom. Or just a dom at all. He isn't really sure what he's doing, but if he'd been able to get a cute stranger alone -- _for God knows what_ \-- then he's got a fighting chance. With a few tequila shots, of course.

I should probably take it easy tonight, he thinks, shrugging off his coat as they pull up to the venue. They're fashionably late, at Phichit's insistence, and the club already looks packed. Despite the panic he's fighting down, Yuuri feels somewhat relieved at the sight. A large crowd makes it easier to fade from view. He'll hang back and observe, just as he had last week, and hopefully no one would bother him.

Of course, he shouldn't be coming here with the mindset he'd once been determined to shake, because that's just counterproductive. He's joining this lifestyle because he wants to try new things, to open up and attempt to meet new people. Maybe even meet someone special. A pet, maybe, like he's always wanted? His cheeks burn at that, and he nearly drops his ID and cash as he holds them out to one of the smirking bouncers. So much for trying to feel like a badass tonight. He can't keep getting flustered. Don't look like such a newbie. _Relax._

It's just as heavily crowded inside, and Yuuri hardly has any time to glance around before Phichit drags him off to the nearest bar. It's a struggle for Yuuri to keep his eyes up off the floor, but some of the looks he's receiving make it hard to keep his gaze anywhere else. If people are looking at him, he must be making an ass out of himself somehow. Maybe he really does need a drink. Or five.

"It's time to get shitfaced," Phichit declares after ordering a round of shots. Yuuri doesn't really bother trying to argue with that. It's always time to get shitfaced.

He casts nervous looks up and down the length of the bar, but doesn't see any familiar faces so far. None except for the bartender's -- it's hard to forget a sneer like that. It's directed at him now as they make eye contact, but something in the bartender's expression hints more towards amusement than disdain, and he turns away with what's almost a knowing smirk. Yuuri decides that it's best not to dwell on this, and definitely spends the next half an hour not thinking about it. At all.

Phichit doesn't waste much time running off without him, and Yuuri watches him from a distance rather fondly as he gives Seung-gil a lap dance on one of the lovely leather chairs in a corner of the room. He doesn't mind. Prefers it, really. He doesn't like to be babied, and Phichit knows that. He'll leave Yuuri to his own business for as long as he wants, and if he'd like to join them later, he'd be welcomed with open arms. Well, almost open -- Seung-gil isn't the kind to share beyond a certain point. Yuuri respects that, because he isn't, either.

No, he thinks, meandering through the writhing crowd, definitely not into sharing. Yuuri wants something that's his, and only his. That's why he's here. That's why he's doing this. He wants something new, something that's _his_ , something that he can protect and cherish. He wants the sort of control he's never gotten the chance to possess in his entire life. Would he find that here tonight? Would he find someone who'd submit to him? To _him,_ of all people? Awkward and unassuming Yuuri, precariously balancing the weight of another person's mind, body, and soul in his trembling hands. Who would even bother giving him that chance?

That's all he needs. A chance to prove himself. A chance to become the great Master Eros he'd always dreamed of being. And he certainly won't find that chance lurking against the walls, that's for sure. He makes his way towards one of the many stations, squeezing between people to get a better view. He'd avoided these stations for the most part last time, unable to keep a straight face while watching subs being flogged or tied up. The one he watches now is bound to the Spread Eagle, her back arcing beautifully so that her exposed ass is the perfect target for the very enthusiastic redhead wielding the whip. Yuuri tries his best not to wince as it cracks, not wanting to seem so easily shaken in front of everyone. If he can withstand and even revel in the sound of it in his dreams, surely he can do the same now?

It cracks again, and Yuuri decides that it's best not to push himself, wandering off to find a different station now. It strikes him a little belatedly that the redhead with the whip had been one of the dancers on stage last week, and her performance alongside what Yuuri thinks had been the club owner's had been exhilarating to watch. Their bodies had moved so sinuously, gyrating for all the world to see, but Yuuri had found it hard to look for very long. Something about gawking just feels embarrassing and downright rude to him. But he glances towards the stage now, taking a moment to look the current dancers over. This would be something he'd have to get used to. Staring without shame. Being free. Open. They _want_ him to look, so he shouldn't feel bad for doing so.

Phichit, far more experienced in this lifestyle, had done his very best to help Yuuri along in areas where he'd been too embarrassed to research for himself, and had even convinced Seung-gil to give him friendly dom to dom advice. One thing they had stressed the most had been opening his mind to new things and not being ashamed of pursuing what he liked and wanted. With the proper consent, he can let his eyes and hands wander wherever they desired.

Desire. He glances around the club, no longer trying to be discreet about letting his eyes rove over exposed skin and beckoning smiles. Is that what he feels? Is that what he _will_ feel? He isn't sure, but he hopes that discovering this feeling will lead him to a special someone. Someone who can draw him out, someone who can make him see that there's so much more to him. _If_ there's anything more to him, of course.

The phrase 'special someone' has him feeling sort of like an idiot high school student looking for a prom date, and he blushes hard right at the unfortunate moment that a very attractive sub at a nearby station catches his eye. He wants to sink into the floor and die at the man's sudden and bold smirk. Will he ever stop embarrassing himself in this place?

It seems like his dying has only just begun, because the man approaches him now, and if it hadn't been for the large collar tight around his throat, Yuuri might have mistaken him for a dom. Then again, in a place like this, there's a lot Yuuri has to learn about judging a book by its cover. He takes a quick moment to glance over that cover now, taking in the spandex-clad man's muscular and tall build and confident swagger. He can't help but wonder what he looks like in return, and if this sub is as impressed as he is.

The man's wickedly gleaming green eyes indicate that he must think _something_ of him, at least, and Yuuri braces himself as he watches him nudge past the crowd huddled around the station to reach him.

"Well," the man says cheerfully, rubbing his hands together in excitement, "it seems like we've got the perfect volunteer right here!"

_What._

Yuuri's tempted to look behind him to stare down this 'perfect volunteer' the way the crowd is now staring him down, but the man's eyes have him pinned. There's no one else he could possibly be referring to. The crowd parts as the man returns to the station, and Yuuri's nearly halfway there before he even realizes that he had followed. What's gotten into him? Is he freeing his mind? Is that what this is? In that case, why not go along with it? What's the worst that could happen, aside from crippling public humiliation?

Yuuri isn't sure which station this is, as the smaller ones tend to change each time depending on whoever decides to demonstrate their craft on it. The last time Yuuri had been here, there had been someone showing off their rope-binding skills on any willing audience member.

When the man suddenly turns to hand him an unlit candle, Yuuri has a better idea of what this station is about.

When the man suddenly stands aside to reveal what's waiting for him, Yuuri has no idea of anything at all, because his mind blanks as his thoughts come to a screeching halt.

There's another man lying on his back on the table of this station. This one _must_ be a sub. He's blindfolded, and his arms are bound together and resting above his head. The rope around his wrists and the strip of fabric covering his eyes are just about the only things he's wearing. Yuuri isn't sure if the tight and skimpy black thong really counts. Before Yuuri's brain can reconstruct itself, the first man steps towards him again with a lighter, and Yuuri's distracted by the dance of flames.

"Don't be shy. Everyone is welcome to try!"

Welcome to try what? Yuuri thinks faintly as he's led closer, his gold candle blazing. Its glow mingles with the flashing club lights, casting over a face that Yuuri can see all too clearly now. There's something familiar about the sweep of his silver bangs over his forehead, the strands plastered in place there by sweat. Sweat that rolls down his face -- his strong nose and jaw, and lips so lush that Yuuri can only gape at them, the candle nearly slipping through his now slick hands as he watches the man's pierced tongue dart out to lick at a running bead.

Yes, there's something familiar about his body, and Yuuri realizes that he must have seen it in his dreams. No person in the waking world has a body like _that._ And yet here it is, ready and waiting and... willing? Of course. There's a rigid sense of urgency, of anticipation in his frame, and as he fidgets slightly, the light of the flame catches his body jewelry. Twin glints of gold at his nipples, and, as Yuuri's eyes wander lower, down a perfectly sculpted stomach, the gold at his navel winks at him brightly, stirring up a memory that slips away just as easily as it had formed.

Yuuri's eyes want to trail lower to fix on the very obvious bulge between the man's legs, but he forces himself not to. Relax. Don't just stand there drooling. _Do something._

He winces slightly as the first bit of melted wax finds his hand. This bit of pain draws him back into the real world, back into the club, back into the crowd that's been staring at him expectantly. Shit. Now he _actually_ has to do something. He realizes exactly what that something is far too belatedly, and man beside him seems to sense this. He gives Yuuri a friendly nudge to the side and winks.

"Don't keep him waiting, now."

Yuuri doesn't. He approaches the sub on the table, extending the candle sideways and out over his awaiting chest. The wax is running freely now, and Yuuri watches, fascinated, as a glimmer of molten gold drips down onto pale flesh. The man hisses softly, head rolling to the side, but other than that, he doesn't move. Yuuri's oddly pleased. He doesn't want him to move.

Not until I want him to, Yuuri thinks, thrilled as the wax begins to stream more fluidly. He moves the candle slowly, watching the golden trail make its way to an equally gold nipple ring. Yuuri hears a small gasp, but nothing more. The man doesn't move. The wax is soon dripping down onto his other nipple, and this time the man twitches slightly. Yuuri draws back a bit to admire his work, and the sight of the wax drying thickly over stiff and pierced nipples excites him.

That excitement mounts as he brings the candle down the man's body, down his abs and over his navel, and when liquid gold drips down onto the pierced flesh there, the hiss that escapes the man's lips is louder, sharper, and he begins to squirm. Yuuri, struck by sudden and insane inspiration, leans over quickly to blow onto the cooling wax, watching the skin ripple as the man shivers and gasps.

Yuuri likes this. He likes this very much.

He likes this so much that he does it again, lips pursed to blow gently along the wax trail as it teases down to the man's groin, pooling in the dip of his pelvis. Yuuri's lips follow, and he soon finds himself face to face with what he'd been trying so hard to avoid. The straps of the man's thong hug his hips snugly, the rest of the fabric just as tight where it stretches over hardened flesh. 

Oh, God, Yuuri thinks frantically, he's _hard._ He doesn't want to believe it, but there it is -- real and in front of him. This man is shamelessly hard, and in full view of the crowd surrounding them. Yuuri's hands start to shake, because he'd forgotten that there were even other people in the room. He'd almost forgotten that there were even other people in existence, because for just the briefest of moments, it had been just him and this man.

Just me and this man and his giant dick, Yuuri corrects himself, growing slightly hysterical. It isn't even at its full size, but Yuuri knows that if he just pushes a little further...

He angles the candle right over the man's cock, and when the wax splashes down the front of his thong, Yuuri gets the reaction he's wanted. The man's back makes a beautiful arc as his body seizes, his hips rolling up so suddenly that Yuuri almost gets a mouthful of crotch as he leans forward to blow. The man's moan is deep and throaty, and it's almost enough to block out all other noises in the club from Yuuri's hearing. Almost.

He can just faintly hear the sounds of clapping and whistling, and the sudden voice at his side almost makes him drop the still-lit candle. It's the man with too many facial piercings, patting him on the back and grinning deviously as he plucks the candle from his grasp and blows out the flame. He runs a hand through his cropped blond hair, looking very impressed. 

"Nice! I guess you _do_ actually know what you're doing!"

Before Yuuri can ask just what the hell he means by that, a familiar face emerges from the crowd to frown at him. It's Seung-gil, and he takes only the shortest of pauses to look between Yuuri and the man on the table curiously before speaking.

"Phichit's pole-dancing. He sent me to go find you."

Yuuri's almost glad for an excuse to pardon himself from the group of people still watching in fascination, and his need to flee increases as he sees the blindfolded sub start to stir, head tilted as though trying to find him. Their eyes would have met had it not been for the strip of fabric, though the blond man steps forward to loosen it now. Yuuri turns to leave quickly before he sees what he's certain would be bright blue eyes.

Phichit is indeed pole-dancing, swinging around unsteadily but somehow managing not to go flying into the small crowd that's gathered around him. The lessons he'd taken must have paid off, and for a moment Yuuri wonders how many shots it would take to join in showing off what he'd learned alongside him. But when Phichit spots him and gestures for him to come closer, Yuuri decides that there probably isn't enough booze in the world for that to happen. Instead, he takes a seat in one of the nice leather sofas nearby, and Seung-gil perches himself on the arm beside him, still keeping an eye on Phichit in the distance accepting the dollar bills being stuffed into his crotch. 

"So," Seung-gil says after some length, "who was that guy?"

"What guy?" Yuuri asks absently, definitely not still thinking of him.

Seung-gil shoots him a sidelong look, eyebrow raised. "The guy covered in your golden jizz, who the fuck else?"

Yuuri makes a strangled sound that he tries to pass off as a cough, covering his mouth with his hand and praying that his entire face disappears as well. 

"Look, I have no idea! One minute I'm wandering around the club, the next I'm --"

"Hey," Seung-gil says very casually, nodding at something in the distance, "isn't that him?"

Yuuri's strangled sound is much louder and a lot harder to pass off as anything other than pure panic, and his head snaps up so fast that his vision swims. He hopes Seung-gil is just fucking with him, or that the figure approaching him is just a hallucination, but the closer the man gets, the more Yuuri doubts this. He emerges like Venus from the sea, but instead of foam it's a throng of drunken revelers, and he's at least somewhat more modestly dressed than the average deity. But he certainly looks the part, like something from a fever dream, and Yuuri fights the urge to pinch himself as the man plops down onto the sofa beside him. He turns to him as though he's the only person in the club, or in existence, for that matter, and Yuuri realizes far too late that Seung-gil has very discreetly and politely ditched his ass. Fantastic.

The man leans against the back of the sofa, one arm casually slung over it, and there's something about the way he curls against the soft cushions, his legs tucked neatly beneath him, that reminds Yuuri of a pampered pet.

That's exactly what he is, Yuuri realizes, trying and not trying to stare at him all at once. Yes, something about this man makes Yuuri certain that he's a pet, although he hasn't got a collar on. Does he belong to anyone?

"You know," the man says suddenly, smiling very sweetly at him, "most people usually stick around after. At least to help me clean up."

Yuuri gapes at him, and in a flash of lights, his eyes register the flecks of gold still clinging to his skin, and the wax still stuck to the front of his leather thong. His face flushes hard, but the man speaks before he can sputter out an apology.

"It's fine, I'm mostly joking. But people offer, usually. Very eagerly. One could even call it 'begging.'"

Yuuri can't even imagine actually placing his hands on this man's bare skin, nails flaking away at the wax on his chest, his stomach, his --

"You're a lot more quiet in public, aren't you? We can be alone again, if you want?"

Yuuri would hardly call being at the center of an enthusiastic and voyeuristic crowd being 'alone,' even if it had felt like just the two of them. But part of him wants to take this man up on his offer. There's something familiar about the concept of them on their own, in their private and quiet world, with nothing but the candlelight between them. Then, darkness, and the feel of something smooth and pulsing that his hand encircles so easily that it makes him shiver. The man notices this immediately and scoots closer.

He's too close to avoid gazing directly into his eyes now, and Yuuri feels some sort of vague satisfaction in having correctly guessed the exact shade of blue. Something about them is so familiar. He feels the need to see them from a different angle, pointed up towards him from below, pupils blown wide with desire. The thought strikes him so abruptly that his mind reels, and this must show on his face, because the man's smile grows even sweeter.

"I get it. You're nervous. Well, if you need me, I'll be in the bathroom cleaning up. In the last stall," he adds with a wink.

Yuuri watches him rise and leave, eyes glued to his ass until it's out of sight. He can swear that the man's hips are moving just a bit too deliberately, as if he knows he's being gawked at. Of course, this could just be his usual gait, because now that Yuuri notices, he sees that he isn't the only one doing the gawking. Of course he isn't. Since when does a literal god have only one worshiper? He sees those worshipful gazes now, following just as hungrily at his own, and he's filled with a jealousy so fierce that it's actually sort of stupid. What right does he have to feel so possessive? It isn't like he owns him or anything.

_Be my pet._

He starts, the clarity of that sudden thought hitting him hard, almost as though it were a memory.

 _What?_ A man like _that,_ as _his_ pet? In his dreams, maybe. And that must be it. He must have seen this man in his dreams, a face picked from the crowd the last time he'd been here. Yes, actually, that's exactly it. No wonder he had seemed so familiar. This man had spoken to him last time at the bar, and Yuuri had hurried away without more than a one-word answer. Why hadn't he remembered that until just now? Most of that night had been hazy, but he can't imagine anything in this world that'd cause him to forget eyes like those, so blue and so sultry and so focused on him. And _only_ him.

Only him.

He's waiting for me, Yuuri realizes, hand clutching at his chest. _Idiot._ The man is in the bathroom. Waiting. He'd even said which stall. He's waiting. Why?

_You know why._

Yuuri sits on the sofa a little while longer, the blare of the club's music fading to background noise around him as he stares blankly ahead, mind racing. After some time, he stands, and his path to the bathroom is so devoid of obstruction or distraction that he wonders if he's been blessed, a chosen man on a mission.

This club doesn't seem to have hired bathroom attendants, and Yuuri counts that as another blessing. The fact that the bathroom is also mercifully empty also makes him believe that miracles do happen, although he knows that it won't be long until someone is bound to enter. He has to act fast. At least, he'd like to, but he's still not entirely sure what the hell he's about to do.

Sure enough, the only stall occupied is the last one. Yuuri approaches it, fighting the stupid urge to knock and awkwardly ask who's there. He wonders if the man knows that he's standing here now. Waiting. They're both waiting. For what?

Yuuri's period of invulnerability from the universe's bullshit is short-lived, because the outer door to the bathroom opens as someone enters. He makes his decision, taking the open stall next to the one he'd been hovering in front of uncertainly. He shuts and locks it quickly, leaning against the door and trembling. God, what the hell is he doing?

The question of what he's doing -- or rather, what he _should_ be doing -- comes in the form of something small shooting into his stall. It plops onto the tiles below with a sound that seems much louder than it should have, and Yuuri freezes to listen to whoever is outside before finally giving the item a closer look.

It's a condom.

He stares at it.

It doesn't disappear when he blinks, nor does it morph into something more innocuous. It's real. It's a condom. And it had been thrown into his stall.

Not thrown, Yuuri realizes, as it hadn't come flying from above. And it hadn't been slid underneath the small gap between their stalls either. It had just been shoved in, seemingly through the wall. When he turns his head to peer at said wall, he realizes why.

There's a hole.

In the stall wall.

The neat ring of black duct tape padding it almost blends into the color of the wall itself, completely escaping Yuuri's notice until now. The hole is about the size of --

He pales, then flushes, his knees going so weak that he flings out a hand to brace himself against the wall before he can collapse. If this had been some sort of cue, he isn't aware of it, and he has to hold himself up with twice the amount of effort when he sees slender fingers slip through the hole to rub along the bottom of it. Gold glimmers in the fluorescent lighting as a tongue flicks through the hole teasingly.

Jesus fucking Christ, Yuuri thinks, eyes snapping back to the condom still on the floor. Fuck. Shit. _Fucking shit._

The door to the bathroom opens and shuts again, and Yuuri isn't sure if it's someone exiting or entering, because soon enough all he can hear is the sound of his heart pounding harder in his chest, the blood rushing to his face in a roar as he quickly bends to snatch up the small packet. He stares down at it, the weight of it suddenly heavy in the palm of his hand. 

Be open minded. Be free. Right.

He takes a deep breath, unbuttoning and unzipping his shorts, and with only the slightest bit of hesitation, he reaches down to slip his hand under his briefs. He isn't hard, his nerves completely frayed, but as he closes his eyes and draws out his cock, he has the feeling that it won't take very long. Images come to him of smooth and flawless skin, a perfect canvas stretched across an even more perfect frame. Flashes of gold, winking at him so teasingly from such soft spots. They're drowned out by something brighter, a liquid that seems to sizzle as it drips, a molten river that runs down chiseled marble, down and down to someplace secret and so very sensitive. Arched back, churning hips, and a moan that reverberates in his skull. A voice that he feels under his skin. Eyes that drown him.

Such a good boy, on his knees and waiting. Yuuri should reward him.

Yuuri opens his eyes, watching his hand slide up and down the hardened length of him slowly. He takes another steadying breath before tearing the packet open and rolling down the condom onto himself. Okay, he tells himself, his heart rising in his throat, be calm. Relax. Just do it. Just stick your dick into that hole. _Do it._

He steps forward, carefully guiding himself into the opening. It's just large enough for him to fit through, as thick as he is, and the small and sharp intake of breath on the other side of the wall can only mean that his size has been noted and very much appreciated. It makes him blush hotly, and for a moment he has to fight down the urge to run. He can't help but feel kind of ridiculous for what he's doing, but before he can get his thoughts on the matter in order, all coherency is forcibly driven out of him by soft and warm lips.

They press against the tip of his cock, pushing forward until the head is enveloped in a wet heat he can almost feel through the thin condom. Yuuri grits his teeth and nearly bangs his head against the wall, resting his forehead against it and shuddering. _Fuck,_ he thinks, trying to collect his thoughts again, this is happening, this is _actually_ happening, this is --

The man on the other side takes him entirely into his throat without warning, and Yuuri has to bite back a shout of surprised pleasure. He brings a hand up to cover his mouth, the other bracing against the wall as he once again finds that he barely has the strength to keep standing. Lips tighten, pulling back, but Yuuri's low groan of protest is cut short by the feel of a hot tongue sliding along his shaft. Something round and smooth rubs against him, and the last shreds of sanity left in Yuuri's mind tell him that this must be the man's tongue ring. He isn't sure why that makes him twice as heated, but it does, and he doesn't question it.

The bathroom door opens again, and Yuuri chokes around the fist he suddenly has to shove into his mouth as his cock is devoured again, this time much faster -- lips pushing and pulling relentlessly, tongue flicking and rubbing mercilessly along his underside. Yuuri can't help but let out a low growl of frustration, because the latex barrier between them is as excruciatingly isolating as the wall he ruts against, thrusting his hips with an unrestrained desperation that he soon realizes is shaking the entire stall. He stops immediately, his face in flames, but the bathroom is silent. Hopefully whoever had walked in earlier has left already.

Relax, he tells himself again, forcing himself still. What would a real dom do? Be calm and collected, of course. Let their sub service them. Right. He juts out his hips, pressing as much of himself as he can through the hole, and bites his lip hard as the man sucks him off with an extra burst of enthusiasm. Back and forth, back and forth, over and over, and Yuuri finds that he has a much harder time trying not to move. He wants to jerk his hips, to thrust hard into this man's mouth. He wants to be in the stall with him, fingers tangled firmly in his beautiful silver hair as he fucks his face. He wants to see those pretty blue eyes swimming with tears, wants to see them run down his cheeks and mingle with Yuuri's cum when he pulls out to finish all over him, with no condom separating him from smooth and flushed skin.

Heavy breathing and soft whimpers around his cock bring Yuuri back to his senses, and a slick beating sound comes from the other stall, starting slow but building up rapidly. He's touching himself, Yuuri realizes, trembling hard as a low moan reverberates around his cock, seeming to make its way through him. God, fuck, he's _touching himself._

Yuuri has to fight the urge to tell him to stop, almost appalled at himself for wanting to torture him, to deny him his pleasure. That wouldn't be right. Or would it? Isn't that what subs wanted? To be told what to do?

Yuuri hardly has two functioning brain cells to rub together, so his internal struggle is short-lived. And in any case, the sounds coming from the other stall tell him that the man is about ready to come, the slap of skin on skin so fast and loud that Yuuri wonders how anyone _can't_ hear. But he's tuned out the world, so he doesn't care. Let them hear. Let them hear now, right at this exact moment that the man lets out a muffled moan, his mouth still full of cock, his lips clamping down tight as his entire body seems to writhe. The sound of him jerking his own cock becomes a lot more wet, and the realization that he's just come has Yuuri gripping the top of the stall hard, his breath coming in hitching gasps as he tips over the edge and into the condom.

He nearly falls back, slipping out of the warmth of the man's mouth and scrambling to roll the used latex off of him. He flushes it quickly, stumbling out of the stall to frantically wash his hands and nearly bowling over a drunk couple that had just staggered in as he darts out. Once again, he finds himself swallowed back into darkness, heat, and sound, people pressing around him and music blaring at him from every angle. It makes his heart race faster, and he feels ill.

Why is he running? Why is he freaking out? Why has he just left what's most definitely likely the man of his dreams back on his knees in a bathroom stall?

Yuuri doesn't know why, but he knows that he has to go.

It doesn't take him long to find Phichit and Seung-gil, curled up together on the sofa where Yuuri had been not too long ago. Seung-gil waves him down, looking somewhat relieved to see him.

"There you are. Mind if we leave early? This one's feeling... _amorous._ "

"I just wanna cuddle!" Phichit nearly howls, draping himself lovingly around his boyfriend. "That's it! Juuuuuuuust... cuddles!"

Yuuri nods absently, his mind in a million places at once, and the three of them make their way out of the pounding club without a backward glance. Yuuri especially, trying everything within his power not to turn and look for any flashes of gold in the crowd. He doesn't want to catch sight of sad blue eyes following him as he leaves.

He collapses in the backseat of Seung-gil's car, so dazed and exhausted that he nearly misses his question.

"Huh?"

"Did you get my text?" Seung-gil repeats, gently prying Phichit off him and buckling him in before starting the car.

The only thing Yuuri had gotten was his dick sucked, so he shakes his head, fumbling in his pocket for his phone. There's the text. It must have been sent while he was in the bathroom, judging by the time.

"That blond guy went up to me and asked where you were. Then he gave me a number for you."

Yuuri opens the message, and sure enough, there's a phone number. And a name. Something about it stirs up a memory, though he can't quite grasp it. He stares down at his screen the entire way home, his eyes glued to a name he can nearly feel on the tip of his tongue.

Viktor.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a heads up, the next update may not come until December! I'm currently involved in two projects that I absolutely need to spend the rest of October and all of November working on. Please check them out!
> 
> Yuri on Ice Mafia Zine: https://yoimafiazine.tumblr.com/  
> Big Bang on Ice: https://bigbangonice.tumblr.com/
> 
> For Requiem readers, I plan to update that by next weekend, and then it will go on the same mini-hiatus in order for me to finish my projects. Thank you for your patience! ;w;

Viktor sighs for what feels like the thousandth time in the last half an hour, and the look Yuri gives him from across the living room clearly says that he’ll send his textbook flying at his head if he attempts one thousand and one. Viktor wouldn’t mind. He’d love to die right about now, cold and alone and unloved and untexted. He opens his mouth to speak, but Mila, halfway through wolfing down her breakfast, cuts him off.

“No, we don’t know when he’ll text you,” she says around a mouthful of porridge. “If you ask again, Georgi’ll hex you. Tell him, Gosha.”

“She’s right,” Georgi says idly from the couch, not looking up from his phone. Ominous.

Viktor groans and rests his head on the table beside his neglected meal, wishing he had done so a little more forcefully. Maybe if he knocks himself out on the cold hard wood, he won’t have to think anymore.

He won’t have to think about hot wax and cooling breaths, or about warm eyes widening behind glasses, or about the way he’d felt kneeling on cold tile, his mouth suddenly empty and his chest suddenly hollow as Yuuri pulled out and away from him, fleeing from the bathroom at the club like his life had depended on it.

Why had he run away?

Viktor would have asked this question aloud, but Georgi most definitely would hex him, and Viktor isn’t quite _not_ superstitious enough to mess around with that.

It’s been an entire day, and Viktor hasn’t heard a word from the man who’d so captivated him not once, but twice. _Twice._ Most men consider themselves lucky to hold even a fraction of Viktor’s attention for longer than a few hours, but this man in particular had managed to do the impossible. He’d managed to make Viktor feel as though _he_ had been the lucky one, as though he’d been blessed to breathe the very same hazy club air. It’s impossible. It’s maddening. But it’s the sort of madness Viktor secretly enjoys very much, masochist that he is, and so he wallows a bit more enthusiastically the rest of the day. He keeps his sighs at a minimum, though, because Yuri really does have quite fantastic aim.

Viktor’s in the middle of sulking in his bed, wrapped in blankets and curled around his brown poodle -- the only creature on this planet who will ever love him, he’s sure -- and ready for a sad nap, when his phone goes off. He scrambles for it wildly, nearly dropping it onto the dog’s head, but grunts in disappointment when he sees it’s only Chris. He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up.

“Please let me die in peace,” Viktor says, by way of greeting. He’s met with soft and amused chuckling.

“Still nothing?”

“Are you _sure_ you --”

“Yeah, I’m sure. The guy I gave your number to, I’ve seen him around a lot. And they even showed up together. He texted your number to him, I saw him do it, I swear.”

Viktor closes his eyes, the memory of that night playing out in his mind for the hundredth time. He remembers exiting the bathroom, dejected and weary, to find that Yuuri was, predictably, no longer in the club. Chris had approached him soon enough to tell him that, while the two of them had been busy having fun in the stalls, he’d passed his name and number along to the couple that’d walked in with Yuuri.

Viktor can hardly remember anything other than Yuuri’s face, but he supposes that Chris had been referring to the same couple Yuuri had been sandwiched between on the dance floor on the first night they'd met. And the same that had later whisked him away from the private booth. According to Yuuri, they’d been the ones who’d convinced him to attend his first fetish club and try out the lifestyle he’d been so secretly coveting. Viktor wants to thank them. He also wants to strangle them, because they obviously hadn’t given Yuuri his number. Otherwise, Yuuri would have called him already. There could be no other explanation for the silence on his end. Why would Yuuri ask him to be his pet if he hadn’t meant to follow up on it? Viktor sighs.

“Am I ugly?” he asks Chris sadly.

“No,” Chris says brightly, “but you’re twelve years old, apparently. Come on, stop whining! He’ll text you. You probably scared him shitless, is all.”

“Scared him?” Viktor repeats incredulously. The hell is that supposed to mean? Yuuri had been nervous, obviously, maybe more so than the average person, but how can a man who’d brought him to his knees and so boldly wrapped his fingers around his throat be  _scared_ of him?

“Dunno,” comes Chris’ voice, drawing Viktor from his thoughts. He can nearly see the shrug along with it. “He just seems like the type.”

Yeah. He does seem like the type. But what does it all mean? Viktor heaves another massive sigh just as his poodle does the same, and he hears Chris’ laughter again.

“Tell Makkachin I love her. And try not to get snot in her fur.”

Viktor ends the call in a huff, rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling listlessly. It’s a bit too early to call it a night already, but then again, no one in their apartment has much of a consistent sleep schedule. Exhibition doubles as an ordinary bar and strip club on nights it isn’t hosting fetish parties, and so Georgi, the owner, and Mila, one of the dancers, usually have their hands full at odd hours of the day. Yuri only bartends part-time, balancing his job with his college schoolwork, which keeps him up fairly late. Viktor can hear them all come and go at various times during the day, can hear the open and shut of the front door every so often. They all leave the apartment more than he does, really.

The days when all three of them are working, their home is a lot colder, quieter, its vast space suddenly empty and devoid of life and warmth. Viktor doesn’t do much of a good job at filling that gap. Not when he’s alone.

Not that he’s _always_ alone, of course. He has things to keep him busy. Odd jobs for odd people. When he isn’t suffering through his usual unsatisfying mishaps with doms, he’s busy earning a living his own way. Maintaining a following on camsites keeps him paid and occupied, and the gifts he receives from admirers are a sign that he’s no amateur. Amateurs don’t hustle Cadillacs out of Sugar Daddies, that’s for sure. Viktor really prides himself on that one, and the occasional wheedling ensures its upkeep, despite the fact that the man had moved to another state.

Blessedly long-distance, most of his relationships with strangers. He prefers it that way. No danger of letting someone get too close.

Nobody ever gets too close.

Beside him on the bed, Makkachin sighs again.

“I know,” Viktor says miserably, patting her gently. “Me, too.”

That night, he dreams of his phone ringing. He dreams of his phone ringing, and he dreams that he answers it. He hears a familiar voice, over and over, softly asking him the same question.

“Be my pet, Viktor?”

Over and over.

A voice he wishes he could hear again. Over and over.

It’s enough to make him want to grab his phone and toss it away from him, and when he sleepily snatches it up, it comes to life in his hand, vibrating madly. He stares at it stupidly for an entire seven seconds before realizing that he’s receiving texts. Many texts. A ridiculous amount of texts.

From an unknown number.

He continues to stare, but the phone does nothing. No more vibrating. No more texts. Makkachin, who’d woken up long enough to give him a Look, huffs and curls up again in the blessed silence. Viktor pats her absently, still frowning at his phone.

Texts from an unknown number, Viktor thinks, unlocking his screen with trembling fingers. What does that mean? The last bits of sleep clouding his mind vanish once he starts to read, but a fog of something else seems to descend on him, numbing him down his spine and leaving a tingling sensation at the base of his skull.

_Hey. It’s me._

_The gay from the bathroom at the club._

_*GUY_

_I’m so so so so sorry for running away, I didn’t mean to, it just kind of happened. I feel really shitty about it and I don’t really know what to say other than I’m sorry, that was a dick move and I honestly just blanked out in that moment, I swear_

Viktor is absolutely gaping now, scrolling slowly down the seemingly endless barrage of texts he’d received in his sleep. There’s a short gap in time between the last one he’d read and the one to come after it.

_Sorry I was rambling so much. I hope you’re not mad at me. But if you are, it’s okay because I deserve it._

_Sorry for all the texts it’s just that my friend got ur number from ur friend and said that u really wanted to talk to me so I really hope I didn’t fuck things up just now because I really wanna talk to u too?? sorry_

_Sorry I forgot to mention my name is Yuuri_

_Sorry for all the texts and I hope to talk to u soon and explain why im the worst_

It ends there, with each message showing a steadily increasing deterioration of composure. Viktor would be amused, even charmed, if he weren’t currently losing his composure just as quickly. He’s typed out three different responses already without thinking, deleting each one partway through, because none of them sound right at all. His shaking hands nearly send one incomplete and stupid sounding text, and he has to lay his phone down for a moment to collect himself.

Okay, he thinks, growing slightly hysterical, so he texted you. Great. Fantastic. He sure did that. It sure happened. _Now what?_

He eyes his phone cautiously, as though afraid it might jump at him with another round of vibrations, then slowly picks it up and attempts another text.

_Please step on me._

He deletes that one immediately.

_I’ll think about it._

Too cruel. As much as Viktor enjoys being a teasing asshole from time to time, he isn’t a fan of playing games. Not when the love of his life is most likely shitting himself in anticipation, waiting fretfully for his response.

He’s in the middle of composing what he’s absolutely sure is a clever message comparing Yuuri to Cinderella, complete with an incredibly subtle metaphor for the shoe-fitting, when he receives an Instagram notification. He has to stop himself from laughing when he reads it, though he thinks he can hear the bubbling note of delirium in his voice.

_master+eros liked your post._

Viktor’s attempts at stifling his laughter fail spectacularly when he sees that it’s a post from almost six months ago.

This guy has some fucking nerve, Viktor muses, tapping the photo. It’s one of him in a collar, and nothing else. Artfully and tastefully censored, of course -- Viktor has standards. Mostly. He wonders briefly if the like had been a mistake, and if Yuuri had most likely died of embarrassment, never to be heard from again. Tragic, their love, like the classic tales of old.

But the man seems to have made it his life’s mission to constantly surprise him, so Viktor’s jaw drops at his next notification.

_master+eros started following you._

Of course, Viktor instantly goes to check out his profile. It’s not as extensively filled out as his own, but Yuuri’s got decent enough photos. None showing his face, but Viktor had sort of expected that. He scrolls to one that he decides is his favorite -- Yuuri from the neck down, in an unbuttoned white shirt, a leash wrapped firmly around his hand. The caption reads ‘come here,’ which Viktor finds absolutely _adorable,_ and he gleefully likes it, wondering what sort of rise he’d get out of this man when he sees.

“Fucking hell, I really am twelve,” he mutters, switching back to his half composed text. What the hell is he doing? They’re _adults_. No Instagram bullshit. And no Cinderella bullshit either, he adds, deleting his message a little reluctantly. The bit about the slipper had been pretty brilliant, in his opinion.

_Heyyy, sorry for the late response! I like to sleep in ;) And all is forgiven… if I can see you again. I feel like we have a lot to talk about, and it would be better done in person. Don’t keep me waiting! <3 _

Satisfied, he sends it, and when he doesn’t receive a response in over five seconds, he frowns at his phone in confusion. That can’t be right. Yuuri had bombarded him with texts all morning, so now that Viktor’s responded, wouldn’t Yuuri text back immediately?

Apparently not. It takes an entire hour, during which Viktor contemplates various ways to end his existence. He almost ignores his phone when it goes off, giving it a sullen glare and trying to ignore his quickening pulse. Chris had texted him twice already, and Georgi had called to ask if he needed anything from the market before he came home. Viktor isn’t looking forward to another false alarm, but that doesn’t stop his heart from pounding when he grabs for his phone.

_Oh my god I’m so sorry, work got a little crazy and I couldn’t answer! Yes, I wouldn’t mind meeting somewhere. Let me know a time and place._

‘Wouldn’t mind,’ Viktor thinks wryly. The man who’d octuple texted him in a blind panic _wouldn’t mind_ seeing him again. Is he being coy? How cute. How is he so cute? Viktor doesn’t often do ‘cute.’ The shy types are fun to tease, but never really deliver. So why is he melting over Yuuri’s every word? He reads his text again, catching something he’d missed before. ‘Work.’ Where does Yuuri work? What does he do for a living? Viktor is suddenly very eager to know everything about him, but his thumbs seem locked in place where they hover nervously over his screen’s keyboard.

I am spectacularly fucked, he thinks, only mildly surprised to find that he’s not exactly bothered by this.

_How does tomorrow sound?_

This time, Yuuri responds right away.

_I work but I’m off at noon for lunch if you don’t mind coming downtown._

“How assertive,” Viktor murmurs.

 _I’m not far ;) I know a nice caf_ _é_ _, I’ll send you the address!_

Yes, a café would work nicely. Someplace nice and public. Someplace that wouldn’t cause Yuuri to panic and run away again. Viktor would make sure of that. He isn’t sure what he’d done wrong last time, but he won’t make the same mistake again. He wants Yuuri to stay.

_Oh haha that’s really nearby! See you tomorrow, Viktor._

Viktor sits back, a bit stunned for a while, staring at the words on his screen. Tomorrow. He’ll see Yuuri tomorrow. Why does that make him feel so excited? Or does he feel nervous? Or is it both? His stomach is doing something strange, and he can’t tell if his face is numb or burning.

“Is this what dying feels like?” he asks aloud. Georgi pauses in the middle of putting away groceries to frown at him.

“No,” he says very matter-of-factly, “it’s much more painful.”

Viktor has learned to never question Georgi’s wisdom.

He can hardly sleep that night, rummaging through his closet for an outfit worthy of Yuuri's attention. Something classy, but not too douchey. Something stylish, but not something that shows that he’s trying too hard. Or does he want to go all out?

He suddenly pictures Yuuri’s smile, something he’d rarely shown him in the short amount of time they’d known each other, something only half seen in the light of flickering flames. It’s surprisingly not hard to imagine that smile in its full glory, warm and bright, carefree and comfortable. He wants to see that smile.

Viktor picks out a simple button-down shirt and nice slacks. Simple and comfortable. That’s all he wants.

He wants Yuuri to be comfortable around him. He wants him to stay.

Tomorrow, he mouths to himself, settling in his bed against Makkachin’s fluffy warmth.

He’s going to see Yuuri tomorrow.

*

Yuuri’s already seated outside the bustling café with a drink in his hand by ten past noon, checking his phone every other minute anxiously. He’s got only an hour for lunch, so every second that goes by is a second of his time with Viktor being cut short. And he wants all the time in the world to explain himself. Despite not really knowing how to.

He almost jumps out of his chair when his phone finally vibrates, startling the shit out of a couple of nearby pigeons. It’s Viktor, letting him know that he’s just parked. Oh, God. _He’s here._

Don’t panic, Yuuri tells himself, panicking. Trying to be as discreet as possible, he scans the busy sidewalk, waiting for the moment that Viktor will round the corner from the lot behind the building. He runs a hand through his hair nervously, regretting it immediately, because he’s sure he’s ruined it now. He’ll just add it to the list of today’s failures, like the button on his shirt that had gone mysteriously missing as he’d arrived to the office this morning, or the already scuffed surface of his new work shoes. Or the massive ink stain on his finger. God, he’s a fucking mess.

He’s so busy frowning down at his own hands that he almost doesn’t notice when someone slips into the chair opposite from him. His head snaps up to find a handsome and smartly-dressed stranger smiling at him from across the table.

Except it isn’t a stranger, obviously. It’s Viktor.

I almost didn’t recognize you with clothes on, Yuuri tries very hard not to blurt out. But something of this sentiment must have shown on his face, because Viktor looks incredibly amused. Then again, he always seems to have that look in his eyes whenever Yuuri does anything at all.

“Nice to see you again, Master Eros!”

Yuuri’s face flushes hard as he recalls yesterday’s Great Instagram Incident, during which he'd been stealthily stalking his very not-safe-for-work account at work, and the same fear that had gripped him back at the club takes hold of his tongue again. He fights hard against it, determined not to lose his cool. No, he won’t make an ass out of himself today. Probably. Hopefully.

“Uh, yeah. Nice. Nice to see you, too.” Good enough.

Viktor sits back in his chair, crossing his arms over his broad chest a bit expectantly. Yuuri’s eyes catch the large watch on his wrist, gleaming in the midday sun, before they then trail down to his bare and toned forearms, the sleeves of his dark crimson dress shirt rolled up tight around the elbows. The shades hooked on the front of his shirt look designer. Does this man have money? Living so close to downtown, he just might. Which means he’s going to be severely disappointed when he inevitably discovers that Yuuri’s just an average and boring salaryman. Yuuri’s not looking forward to that little revelation.

“You told me you wanted to explain why you’re the worst? Explain away.”

Yuuri feels like he should be insulted, somehow. But he isn’t. Not when Viktor’s smile is so dazzling bright. He’s just teasing. Of course.

“I’m really, really, _really_ sorry,” Yuuri launches into his apology abruptly, despite his inner voice telling himself to get a grip. “I honestly don’t know what happened! I just… panicked. And left. It was really awful of me, and I hope you can forgive me.”

Viktor cocks his head curiously, eyebrow raised. “Yeah. I read as much yesterday. Still don’t understand why, though.”

“I mean… I don’t really know how else to…” Yuuri trails off, fidgeting uncomfortably under Viktor’s stare. What is he supposed to say? He hardly knows what the hell he’s doing half the time on any given day, so how can he explain his panicked bolting earlier?

Viktor seems to sense his discomfort, and his face softens at once. “Sorry, I don’t mean to pressure you for a perfect explanation or anything, just… it doesn’t make sense. The first time we met, you were so much more…” He lapses into silence, his gaze a bit distant and not directed at him, for once.

“Uh. Well. I wouldn’t really call that a first meeting? You spoke to me at the bar and I… I, uh, I guess I totally walked away that time, too, God, I’m _so_ sorry --”

He stops abruptly, because Viktor looks back at him sharply, his face a bit alarmed. His perfect brows knit together as he stares in what Yuuri thinks is confusion.

“What?”

Yuuri feels slightly hurt. He doesn’t remember? “You remember, don’t you? At the bar, you --”

“Yes,” Viktor cuts him off, “I remember. But that wasn’t what I meant. I’m talking about after that. In the private booth.”

Yuuri’s mouth works silently for a moment, a strange sensation tingling hard in the depths of his mind. After the bar incident? He’d gone and danced with Phichit and Seung-gil after that, he’s pretty sure. That’s when he’d started drinking heavily. But... private booth? The Kiss and Cry, the curtained sections at the back of the club. He’d been there?  _With Viktor?_

“The private booth,” Viktor repeats, looking a little wary. “We… had a talk. And you asked me a very important question right before your friend interrupted. Then you left. Again.” The corner of his mouth twitches up, and Yuuri feels like dying.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts, probably for the millionth time, “I just -- I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

But he does. It hits him like a train out of nowhere, Phichit’s words coming back to him with enough force to silence him. The sound of the crowd around him fades to nothing, his best friend’s voice ringing in his ears above it all.

_Yuuri still can’t remember the hottie he had in the booth last week!_

He stares, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, at the man sitting across from him. At the blue eyes, the shade of them so familiar to him, even in the dark, even in the wavering light of a dying candle.

It’s _him._

_The hottie._

“Oh, my God,” Yuuri begins, but Viktor raises a hand cautiously to quiet him.

“I think I see what’s going on now. I knew we both had been drinking but… I guess you were more gone than I thought.” Something about his face is off-putting, and Yuuri realizes that he suddenly looks very sad. Almost crushed. He quickly covers it with a grin that’s almost easy, almost convincing. “Well, I think this has been a huge misunderstanding, then. I’m sorry, Yuuri.”

To Yuuri’s immense shock and even greater dismay, Viktor makes as if to leave, scooting his chair back and rising. Yuuri scrambles wildly for something to say to make him stay.

“Stay!”

Viktor, halfway out of his chair, freezes in place, eyes wide with surprise. A few people passing by glance at them for a moment before continuing on their way, but Yuuri ignores them. He doesn’t care if he’s making a scene. He only has eyes for Viktor right now, and he refuses to look away until he convinces him not to go.

“Sit,” he says quietly, urgently. “Please.”

Viktor sinks slowly back into his seat, looking oddly flustered. Yuuri must be coming off as an enormous asshole, ordering Viktor around like this so suddenly. But the sight of him leaving had sent him into a panic, and he’d lost all restraint and had blurted out without thinking.

“I’m sorry,” he says for the billionth time now, he’s pretty sure, “I didn’t mean to shout at you. I just -- I mean, why were you leaving?”

Viktor looks a bit dazed, but he seems to be trying to pull himself back together. “I… I just,” he pauses, clearing his throat. “I figured that we didn’t have what I thought we had, since your question doesn’t exactly stand anymore, does it? Which means I’ve… made a huge ass of myself. Which is why I’m sorry. Which is why I should go.”

“What question?” Yuuri asks, trying to hang onto the only bit of that explanation that had made any shred of sense to him.

Viktor looks him up and down for a moment, as though trying to preemptively gauge his reaction, and whether or not he should go easy on him. Yuuri wonders if he should brace himself, but thinks he’s learned by now that there isn’t much he can do to ever stop this man from surprising him.

“You asked me to be your pet.”

Yuuri nearly looks over his shoulder to find out who, exactly, Viktor is talking to. Because there’s no way he’s speaking to him, no way he’s telling him that he, Yuuri Katsuki, the dime-a-dozen wannabe dom, had asked the most gorgeous man on the planet to essentially belong to him. He must be speaking to someone else, to some dark-eyed and handsome stranger, not to trembling Yuuri Katsuki, with his scuffed shoes and inky fingers, on the verge of pissing himself and passing out in the middle of a café on a weekday afternoon.

“My… my what?” Yuuri asks faintly, feeling his vision waver. It’s too bright. And too hot. What the hell is going on?

“Pet,” Viktor supplies helpfully, smiling sweetly at him. The strange and flustered guilt he’d seemed to be feeling before has vanished, and he’s gone back to looking very entertained at Yuuri’s expressions.

“I asked that,” Yuuri says slowly. “I really… asked that?”

And, he thinks, looking at Viktor in fear and anticipation, what had been his answer?

What answer does he want to hear?

“You really did,” Viktor says, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, cheek resting against his palm. His smile grows just the slightest bit sly. “But, like I said… you didn’t mean it. You don’t remember. So I should leave, right?”

“Wait,” Yuuri says quickly, realization finally hitting him, “does that mean… you _want_ me to mean it? Does that mean you actually want to stay a-and be my… my…”

Viktor is the very picture of polite patience, kindly waiting for Yuuri to struggle to the obvious conclusion.

“Be my… pet?” Yuuri finishes weakly.

Viktor smirks and leans closer, lashes low and voice even lower. “I thought you’d _never_ ask.”

Yuuri gapes at him.

“That’s a yes,” Viktor adds helpfully.

Yuuri’s grateful for the clarification, because his brain seems to have given up trying to process anything. He stares at Viktor a bit more, not exactly knowing what else to do. Had he heard him right? He wants to be Yuuri’s pet? Yuuri had asked him, that very night they’d met, if he’d like to be his pet, and the answer, somehow, against all logic, is --

“Yes,” Viktor says again, his voice easing Yuuri out of his daze. “I really mean it, you know. Why do you look so surprised?”

“I just… I mean, why… me?” Out of everyone in the club, or anyone in the world, Viktor is choosing him. _Him._ How the hell does a man like _that_ choose someone like _him?_ Viktor’s gaze seems a little distant again as his eyes wander Yuuri’s face.

“That night. There was just something about you. Something that made me want to give you anything and everything without question.”

Yuuri blushes hotly at this, casting furtive glances around to make sure no passing servers or customers at any of the surrounding tables had heard. Viktor certainly isn’t being shy about this. That makes him feel a little ashamed. If he’s going to be Viktor’s master -- a thought that makes him shiver -- then he’s got to start acting like it. Viktor chose him, this _isn’t_ a dream, and he needs to toughen up.

I can totally show sexy dominance if I wanted to, Yuuri tells himself, and something of that boldness must be showing on his face, because Viktor is giving him an odd look now. He looks expectant, almost eager. Eager for what?

Eager to give in to him. That must be it. Yuuri shouldn’t keep him waiting.

“Okay,” he says slowly, a bit more to himself than to Viktor. “Okay. So. This kind of started out… as a disaster. But,” he adds quickly as Viktor raises an eyebrow, “I think I know what I want now.”

“Yeah?” Viktor’s grin is teasing, but his eyes are sharp, alert and waiting. “And what’s that?”

Yuuri hesitates for a fraction of a second, but his hand reaches out with a sure steadiness that belies his pounding heart. Slowly, as though approaching something wild and unknown, he lays his hand on top of Viktor’s. He lays it lightly, the skin just brushing, the ghost of a touch that sets his entire arm tingling.

Viktor hasn’t dropped his gaze to their hands, his sights locked on Yuuri’s face, his own almost expressionless. Watching. Waiting. What is he feeling?

“Viktor,” Yuuri says softly, voice hardly raised above the buzzing crowd surrounding them. He knows Viktor can hear him. He may be the only thing Viktor can hear, with the intent way the man is looking at him. “Be my pet.”  

Lips part for a tongue that darts out to lick them almost nervously, and Yuuri can see Viktor swallow thickly before he speaks. He says the unnecessary, but Yuuri’s aching heart is glad to hear it, anyway.

“Yes.”

There’s a silence as the two stare at each other, the skin of their hands still grazing, and when Yuuri finally can’t take the heat anymore, he lets his gaze drop to where they’re touching. Viktor’s watch catches his eye again, and even from where he’s seated he can see that he doesn’t have much time left.

“Now what?” he blurts, and Viktor snaps out of his trance, the teasing grin Yuuri’s starting to grow used to twitching on his lips again.

“Now,” Viktor says brightly, full on beaming at him now, “we talk. Negotiate. Get to know each other. Do you like choking, Yuuri?”

Yuuri withdraws his hand and nearly withdraws completely out of his chair as well, grasping the table for balance and looking around wildly.

“V-Viktor, _please,_ there are _people_ \--”

“Right,” he says, as though he’d forgotten -- which he hadn’t, Yuuri’s sure. “Fine, then. We can go somewhere private to talk, if you’d like?”

Something about the idea of a ‘private talk’ between the two of them is greatly tempting, but Yuuri has to decline.

“Sorry, I need to get back to work. Maybe some other time?”

“Did you walk here?” Viktor asks eagerly as they both rise. “I could drive you back, and we can talk in the car.”

Although the walk is less than five minutes at most, Yuuri finds that the offer is too good to refuse. He gives him the address to his building, then soon finds himself being led back to the lot where Viktor’s car is parked. He takes a brief moment to wonder which car it is, but one jumps out at him immediately, and _somehow,_ before the lights flash as Viktor unlocks it from a distance, he just _knows._

Viktor swings open the passenger-side door of the most garishly magenta car Yuuri has ever seen in his entire life. And he’s seen quite some shit. It’s a gorgeous convertible, sort of vintage-looking, and in excellent condition. Yuuri’s not much of a car person, but he hazards a guess in his attempt to compliment it as he slides onto pristine white leather seats.

“Nice. Cadillac?”

“Mhmm,” Viktor hums cheerfully, shutting the door and going around to the driver’s side. Yuuri takes the small moment of solitude to glance around the interior. This car is either hardly used, or has professional upkeep. The subject of money comes up in his thoughts again, making him squirm uncomfortably. He’d never be able to afford a car like this in his life. Not that the one he shares with Phichit is horrible, of course. It turns on. It drives. But it isn’t… _this._

Viktor’s already hopped in and ready to go, and the engine rumbles to life fluidly, much unlike the hacking wheeze of Yuuri’s used sedan. Viktor seems to take his shaky exhale as a sound of awe.

“Eldorado ‘76. It was a very generous gift. But that’s a story for another day,” he adds with a mischievous grin at Yuuri’s dumbfounded expression. “Shall we negotiate?”

“Well,” Yuuri says, drawing out the word as his brain scrambles for a second word to say after it. Maybe even a third word, if he’s lucky. “I mean. What exactly does that mean?”

Viktor’s shown remarkable patience with his naiveté, despite the fact that _he’s_ supposed to be the dominant one in this relationship. He wonders vaguely if Viktor thinks he’s an idiot, or if he’s regretting his decision to become his pet. He has a split second of existential dread to wonder when exactly Viktor will get tired of him and leave him to die alone before Viktor’s voice brings him out of his thoughts.

“It doesn’t have to be anything too serious,” Viktor says with a small shrug. “We can just kind of give each other a general idea of what we each want from this relationship. From a master and pet relationship,” he clarifies a bit hastily, and Yuuri feels something odd twist in his stomach.

“Here,” Viktor continues, turning in his seat to face Yuuri fully, “I’ll start, okay?”

Yuuri nods, feeling a sudden thrill. Viktor, who had until this point remained an untouchable mystery, is about to reveal his innermost desires to him. And as his new master, it’s Yuuri’s duty to pay careful attention, to make sure he can fulfill those needs.

“I’m looking for someone to take control of me. I’m very stubborn, so I need someone to match that. Exceed that, maybe. I want to be completely powerless in the hands of someone I trust with my life.”

So much for not too serious, Yuuri thinks, amazed and slightly terrified. Can he really provide what Viktor is searching for?

“I also need someone to take care of me whenever I…” Viktor trails off, cocking his head thoughtfully. “Whenever I’m not me. Whenever I need to retreat. Does that make sense?”

Yuuri isn’t sure, and he knows that now is not the time to bluff. Viktor has laid his feelings bare at the drop of a hat to a complete stranger, and Yuuri isn’t about to betray that trust by pretending to understand.

“I’m not completely sure,” he says, surprised to find that his voice is steadier than he’d thought it’d be. “I’m not gonna lie to you. I don’t know if I’m what you’re looking for. But I’ll do everything I can to be the perfect master for you. I think I can do it, if you just give me time.”

Viktor seems dumbstruck, gaping at him in a way that suggests that no one’s ever said anything like this to him before. Yuuri likes to pride himself on his confusing combination of self-deprecation and determined willpower, and it seems like he’s somehow impressed Viktor with it. At least, Yuuri hopes the look coming over his face can be described as ‘impressed’ and not ‘I’ve made a huge mistake but I’m hiding my internal screaming as best as I can before I can kick you out of this car and leave the country.’

To his massive relief, Viktor smiles at him. It’s kind and bright, and it sends a small shock through him -- or maybe it’s the way he scoots closer, or the way he inclines his head ever so slightly, looking up through his lashes at him as though he’s got a secret to whisper in his ear.

“We’ll have plenty of time to figure that out. For now, how about I tell you what I’m into, and you tell me what you’re comfortable with?”

Yuuri’s words have died in his throat, so all he can really do is nod quickly. It’s hard to think when Viktor is looking at him the way he is now, and suddenly the confines of the car seem far too small, far too cramped, and has Viktor always been so close?

Has he always smelled this good?

He struggles to focus as Viktor speaks up, but it’s difficult to hold his gaze for very long. His blue eyes are too intense, their light filtered behind wisps of silver but no less bright than the sun itself, beating down on him through the windows. It’s far too hot in here. He’s already starting to sweat. When Viktor speaks, he starts to tremble.

“I’ll start off simple. I like to beg. No,” Viktor corrects himself after a short pause, “I like being teased and being broken until I’m left begging. Begging for release. Which I hope you won’t give me too easily.”

“Easily?” Yuuri repeats, voice cracking slightly.

“I like being denied. I like being left aching and unsatisfied and humiliated.” Viktor leans forward suddenly, and Yuuri sucks in a breath sharply, feeling Viktor’s own playing across his lips. Lips that he licks without thinking, and Viktor mimics the movement. Very slowly. When he speaks again, his voice is nearly a purr.

“Can you do that for me, Master? Can you tame me? Break me? Make me yours?”

 _Master._ Yuuri’s jaw has nearly hit the leather seat, and the material is slick beneath his sweating palms where he grips for dear life. Beads of moisture collect on his burning skin, rolling down his spine in painfully slow and chilling trails. What does he say? What can he possibly even say to that?

“God, I fucking hope so.”

Viktor’s face, which had been so sultry, so dangerously still within the simmering heat of the car, suddenly breaks into a massive smile. He leans back and settles into his own seat, rubbing his hands together excitedly before reversing so abruptly that Yuuri scrambles to buckle himself in.

“Great! Oh, this is going to be _so_ exciting, Yuuri!”

Yuuri hardly has enough time to ask himself what the hell he’s gotten himself into before Viktor pulls up to the front of his office building. The door handle slips out of his still slick grasp, and he nearly trips over his own ass getting out, but he manages to save some face with what he prays is a charming smile.

“Text me later?”

Viktor winks, and Yuuri shuts the door perhaps a little too hard and hurries off before his face can completely burst into flames.

It’s almost impossible for him to focus for the rest of the day, and he’s pretty certain he’s almost severely fucked up several stacks of paperwork before catching his mistakes. Thoughts of Viktor cloud his mind, like the cloud of his cologne that he’d been swimming in, or the thick heat they’d both been broiling in within the Cadillac. He needs a shower. A cold one, most likely.

By the time he gets home, his brain is entirely burnt out, having given up trying to concentrate on anything that isn’t Viktor. He just wants to pass out in bed and fall asleep to the image of Viktor’s smile in his mind’s eye. He wants to dream of him, and to wake up still thinking of him. He’d been doing so already, but this time, he won’t push those thoughts away. Not anymore.

Phichit, thank God, is napping on the sofa. Yuuri hadn’t told him anything about how he’d finally plucked up the courage to text Viktor, let alone admitting that he’d made plans to meet him today, but one look at Yuuri’s guilty and flushed face would have told him everything. And Yuuri just doesn’t have the energy for an interrogation right now. It’d been enough to be on the receiving end of a massive grilling after he’d confessed what had happened in the bathroom at the club -- Phichit had been scandalized, and Seung-gil had been quietly disappointed in him.

“You don’t ever leave a sub like that. Treat him right, or you don’t deserve him.”

Yuuri thinks he understands now. He’ll do anything in his power to keep that crushed look off Viktor’s face for good.

He’s in the middle of debating whether or not he should just knock out right now and save bathing for tomorrow morning when his phone vibrates. He fishes it out of his pocket eagerly, pleased that Viktor had actually remembered that he’d asked him to text him. It hadn’t been a command, had it? It’s probably too early for that. But Viktor’s done it anyway. Maybe he really does want to talk to him, regardless of whether he’s told to.

Yuuri opens the message excitedly, thoughts racing with the many witty and totally charming one-liners he’d been mentally preparing in the office, but they all combust immediately once he registers what he’s looking at.

It’s a photo.

A photo of Viktor.

“That’s a dick,” he says aloud, to nobody in particular. He isn’t sure why. He isn’t sure why he had to say it, except to cement into reality that yes, yes it indeed is. He isn’t sure why there’s a dick on his screen, because he’s suddenly forgotten how thoughts are strung together to form conclusions.

Viktor has sent you a dick pic, his mind informs him very kindly. Yuuri is a little grateful and a lot shaken.

He isn’t sure why he’s bolting to the bathroom either, except that he’s suddenly made up his mind on the whole bathing dilemma. Sleep can wait. He can sleep when he’s dead.

As it turns out, Yuuri’s death is closer at hand than he’d thought, because once he has the door securely shut and the shower running, he takes a closer and much more appreciative look at the photo Viktor had sent.

_Hope to see you again soon… Master Eros ;)_

Yuuri has to agree with that sentiment. He has to agree, because when his eyes pick out something in the photo that he’d somehow overlooked before, he has the strongest desire for Viktor to appear in front of him this very moment, as naked under his desperate hands as he is in the photo.

“Are those… _dick piercings?_ ”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! But not for too long -- still lots of projects and writing to get through until February ^^; Thanks for sticking around!
> 
> Requiem readers: it's taking longer than I thought to get around to that update, but I'm hoping I can get it out in January.
> 
> Also a reminder that I sometimes forget to tag something until it comes up, so be sure to check with every update to make sure there aren't any kinks you dislike! (´・ω・｀);;;;;
> 
> Ahhh I also wanted to share this tweet that discovered that Eros can be a Russian name and has super cute diminutives <3
> 
>  
> 
> <https://twitter.com/ladyegcake/status/892110146322780162>

It isn’t that Viktor’s a nervous person. Not in general, really. He doesn’t fret before performances on stage at Exhibition. He doesn’t sweat before going live on camsites for hundreds of viewers. He doesn’t fidget waiting outside people’s doors when he’s invited over for an arrangement. He doesn’t fidget inside of their doors, either, or inside of their houses, in their hotel rooms, in their beds -- but then again, by that point it’s the sort of fidgeting he does for show.

No, Viktor isn’t the nervous type, which is why the past week has been absolute hell.

He isn’t used to diving for his phone like his life depends on it every time it goes off. Calls used to go ignored -- he’d been in the shower, he’d forgotten his phone while he was out, he’d fallen asleep for three days straight and missed fifteen consecutive text messages. Strangely, his vast repertoire of excuses has dwindled down to nothing recently.

He isn’t used to racing and jumbled thoughts -- at least where other people are concerned. There’s enough going on with his own life for him to worry about, and so he doesn’t often have much thought left to spare for others. Some might call it selfish. Viktor would have to agree. But now he finds himself dreaming of a certain face with startling clarity, and he definitely isn’t used to the pang in his chest when he awakens to find that the face is nowhere to be found. He isn’t used to having his thoughts so occupied, in waking or in sleep.

He isn’t used to being surprised, so when Yuuri had responded to his little gift with an invitation, his nerves had all but exploded.

It had been a big gift, actually, and Viktor had carefully angled the photo to make certain that Yuuri could tell just  _ how _ big in particular. The few moments of silence on Yuuri’s end had worried Viktor at first. He’s so used to people begging him for photos that it hadn’t occurred to him until he’d cheerfully hit ‘send’ that his nudes might have been considered unsolicited. He really should have asked, especially after discovering just how skittish his new master had turned out to be.

There had been nothing skittish about Yuuri’s eventual response.

_ My place this weekend? I wanna give this a try. _

Viktor had short-circuited, nearly asking him what he’d meant by ‘this,’ ‘try,’ and ‘weekend’ all at once before getting hold of himself. The last thing he’d wanted was to be seen as oblivious or inexperienced in front of a suddenly confident Yuuri, but the realization that Yuuri had finally asked him to come over for their first scene had left him absolutely shaken. There had been plenty of times where he’d wondered if he’d have to hint at it, but backing off and letting Yuuri step forward when he’d felt comfortable enough had clearly been the best course of action. The action would just start sooner than Viktor had anticipated.

They’d settled on a day and time, but, strangely enough, it hadn’t been the end of their conversation. Another thing Viktor isn’t used to. Most of his arrangements ended in confirmation and then silence until the day to either meet up or make an excuse to flake out arrived. But he’d wanted to keep talking to Yuuri. He’d wanted to know more about him. Things he hadn’t had time to find out at the café, little things about his everyday life. And Yuuri had once again surprised him.

“He likes Makkachin and he likes to cook and he knows how to pole dance,” Viktor rattles off over dinner one night, jiggling his leg and drumming his fingers against the table incessantly. 

Yuri rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like ‘every drunk asshole thinks they can dance,’ but Viktor pointedly ignores him, looking at Mila almost hopefully for approval.

“I mean, he’s pretty much perfect, isn’t he? I told him he should join us for dinner someday.”

Mila doesn’t miss a beat, tilting her head thoughtfully and lowering the glass of wine she’d been about to sip. “And is this dinner happening before or after the wedding? I’d like to at least meet him properly first.”

“There’s no wedding,” Viktor says quickly, before Georgi can start tearing up. “Listen, I’m going to die alone, but at least I’ll get a good dicking by a dog-loving pole-dancing angel before I do, right?”

“That’s fair,” Georgi sniffs, dabbing at his eyes with a napkin.

Mila gives Viktor a look he recognizes all too well -- it’s the ‘you won’t listen to me but I’m going to warn you anyway’ look he receives anytime he mentions going to meet someone. “Well, if it does get that far… make sure he’s safe, yeah? You don’t really know this guy at all, Vitya. And you say he’s new at this? Just be careful, okay?”

As much as Viktor appreciates Mila’s concern, now bordering on grandmotherly-levels of lecturing, he’s about ten steps ahead of her. Previous testing, soft and hard limits, and a safeword had all been determined in the few days he and Yuuri had been constantly texting each other. Viktor’s suggestion of ‘poodle’ as their word had been met with five entire minutes of silence, during which he’d nearly thrown himself out the window in despair. After several more disastrous attempts, they’d settled on something much more sensible instead.

_ How about ‘gold’ ;) Should be easy to remember~ _

At least Yuuri hadn’t threatened to leave the country for that one.

As for their limits, Yuuri had seemed willing to try almost anything at least once. Which Viktor had been more than okay with. He hadn’t been too specific in revealing his own kinks, preferring to give a general idea and wanting to feel the thrill of Yuuri discovering each one with perhaps just a bit of a gentle push in the right direction. More than anything, Viktor loves being surprised. He’d only figured that out very recently, but he loves it all the same. And he knows that Yuuri will deliver. 

His phone vibrates in the middle of him doing dishes, and he almost drops a plate in his scramble to answer it. Just a text -- Yuuri never calls -- but something in his chest swells at the sight of his master’s name boldly displayed across the screen. Viktor had wasted no time in adding Yuuri’s new title to his name in his contacts list, heart emojis and all.

_ Hey! I sent my address, right? _

He had, at least twice, but Viktor can’t blame him for double-checking, considering that the information is probably buried beneath endless photos of Makkachin and tasteful nudity. Viktor hadn’t wasted much time waiting on any of that, either.

_ Yes, you did. See you tomorrow, Master~ ;) _

Master. Viktor had surprised both of them that day they’d been sitting in his car, close enough to touch, close enough for him to feel Yuuri’s quickening breath ghosting across his lips. He’d called him master, just to see his reaction. Would he flee? Would he balk? Would his face explode, as it so often seems to do any time Viktor glances his way?

Yuuri had answered him so steadily, brown eyes dark with a power that he himself seemed unaware of, eyebrows knit in concentration despite the deep blush rising in his cheeks. It had taken every last bit of Viktor’s strength not to drown in that intense gaze, to force himself to pull away, to collect what little dignity he had left in him in that moment. Because he’d been a few seconds away from rolling over with his tail tucked between his legs. He may have even peed a little. He’s not ready to rule out that possibility. Such had been the power of one Yuuri Katsuki.

Maybe Viktor isn’t as safe as he’d thought. He can see himself slipping down a path that leaves him too vulnerable, too willing to fall into something he’s never quite understood before. And it doesn’t frighten him. Not really. Which doesn’t make any sense. And that’s a thought he pushes aside quietly, settling against Makkachin in his bed that night before drifting off to sleep, holding onto the memory of Yuuri’s eyes and his last ‘see you tomorrow’ just as tightly.

He takes almost four hours to get ready the next day, though he has no idea why. He doesn’t even know what to expect from today’s meeting, or how far they’d end up taking things, but he showers twice anyway, spending an excruciating amount of time deep-cleaning and shaving and tweezing before seeming to spend just as long trying to get his hair to do something more interesting. It doesn't. It just sort of swoops, like it always does.

It’ll have to do, because by the time he throws on the outfit he’d spent forty-five minutes picking out, he’s only got enough time to dash out the door and speed the entire twenty-minute drive to Yuuri’s home. He makes it there with only a minute to spare, a jarring contrast to his usual fashionably late manner with anyone else.

He cruises down the street of a pretty decent neighborhood until he comes across a pretty decent townhouse, and he pulls up next to a pretty decent car and steps out onto a pretty decent lawn. Somehow, the unassuming nature of the property fits Yuuri perfectly, and all of Viktor’s assumptions about what might be waiting for him vanish, replaced instead by something quiet yet promising. Promising of what? Nothing about the area exactly screams ‘money,’ which is a thought that makes him fidget a little guiltily as he rings the doorbell. He won’t lie and say that money hasn’t been something he’s been wondering about, asking himself if anything about Yuuri matches up with the appearance and personalities of the men who’d spent so much on him in the past.

But he’d come to the conclusion long ago that none of it mattered, and when the shyly smiling Yuuri in his mind’s eye becomes a reality before him, he’s never felt so sure of it. Hell,  _ he’d  _ be the one to spoil him, to take him places, to pay for his meals and his clothing and anything within Viktor’s means of obtaining. Anything he could ever want.

There’s that same feeling of approaching something dangerous, something unknown, and he pushes away the nerves he swears he doesn’t have, conjuring up his most charming grin instead.

“Hello, Master!” he chirps brightly.

Yuuri’s smile falters for a moment, cheeks flushing as he casts a panicked glance out the door and ushers him inside. Maybe Viktor should have kept his voice down just a tad, but he can’t help but take delight in Yuuri’s embarrassment, because it’s just so  _ precious. _

“You really like teasing me, don’t you?” Yuuri mumbles, leading him through the hall and into a cozy living room.

Viktor really does. He thinks he can spend the rest of his life teasing Yuuri Katsuki, playfully pushing until his averted gaze and reddened face become something wicked and defiant that pushes right back. He senses it there, a tension thrumming beneath the rigid set of his shoulders, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to scoop him up into his arms and kiss him until he melts into something less afraid. But that obviously won’t do. He needs to pace himself.

“Nice place,” Viktor comments casually, looking around until his eyes rest on a nearby collage of photos hanging on one of the walls. He spots a familiar face. “Is your roommate home? Phichit, right?”

“No,” Yuuri says quietly, tensing up further, “it’s just us.”

Don’t tease him, Viktor tells himself firmly, chewing at his lip to keep about a hundred different cheeky and outrageously flirtatious remarks at bay.  _ Pacing. _ Don’t be a jerk.

“Out with his boyfriend?” Viktor picks out another face among the photos that he vaguely recognizes. He definitely hasn’t already seen half of these. He definitely hasn’t been stalking Yuuri’s personal Instagram. It’s worlds different from his fetish one, full of photos of family and friends and seemingly random encounters with animals. Viktor has a hard time looking at these photos for too long, finding that he has the most bizarre urge to be included in them. But that isn’t a part of Yuuri’s life he’d ever get to experience. His place is in the secretive part, one that would never hang happily out in the open in anybody’s living room.

“Yeah, he usually is. So I tend to have a lot of… alone time.” Yuuri glances at him a little more boldly now, and Viktor takes this as a cue to mentally inch toward him.

“Must be pretty lonely.”  _ I can keep you company, _ his tone says. Yuuri doesn’t seem to notice.

“Oh, I don’t mind. I guess that’s just how those kinds of relationships are.”

Viktor raises an eyebrow at him, curiosity piqued. The tips of Yuuri’s ears are starting to turn red.

“Seung-gil’s… his Sugar Daddy, basically? At least, that’s how they started off.”

“Oh?” Viktor’s genuinely surprised at this, peering a little more closely at the photos including the happy couple. Yuuri gradually drifts nearer until he’s hovering at the corner of Viktor’s vision. “They seem so close. Never would have guessed. How’d they even meet?”

“A holiday party we do not speak of,” Yuuri says a little darkly, shuddering slightly. “I told Phichit that was the first and last company get-together I’d ever take him to. He told me he didn’t care, because the CEO’s son would just take him to the next. So, uh, that kind of backfired.”

“Son?” Viktor asks, looking delighted and jabbing a finger at Seung-gil’s terrifying eyebrows and slight scowl. “That guy’s your boss’  _ son?  _ Are you telling me your roommate and  _ your boss’ son _ took you to your very first  _ fetish club?  _ Is there anything about you that isn’t bizarre and interesting, Yuuri?”

Yuuri blinks at him before looking away, flustered and puzzled. “Interesting? I mean, not really? Just… weird, I guess. Anyway, it’s been about two years, and they still keep up that kind of relationship, but it’s become something more between them.”

Fair enough. It’s not uncommon for relationships based on sexual arrangements to grow into something different over time, with the right sort of chemistry and environment. Each one is unique in their own way. Viktor nods slowly, turning until he catches Yuuri’s eyes with his own. The silence stretches out, passing in an eternity and in a second, and suddenly Viktor’s aware of just how close Yuuri is. He's close enough to reach out and touch. Had either of them moved at all? 

Yuuri smells fresh and airy, like something new, and Viktor wants to familiarize himself with it, to hold him close until his scent becomes a part of him, becomes something for him to take home and remember him by.

“Viktor,” Yuuri says suddenly, startling them both. The urgency in his voice has Viktor on edge at once, body tight with anticipation. He has to actually force himself not to fidget as Yuuri struggles to continue. “I… I planned out what I want us to do today, if that’s okay with you? We’ll start off slow.”

Yuuri can start him wherever he likes, but Viktor nods as nonchalantly as he can, watching carefully as Yuuri swallows nervously and turns away, beckoning to him to follow. 

“Come.”

Viktor beams, shrugging away the unfamiliar nervousness and shoving his hands in his pockets to stroll leisurely after his master.

“I thought we were starting off slow, hmm?”

*

Yuuri settles on the edge of his bed, fists balled tightly against his knees to stop them from shaking. His jaw is just as tight, and he has to fight not to chew at the inside of his cheek. The curtains are drawn, and the bedside lamp is just bright enough to fill the room with a warm glow, which is just the way Yuuri prefers it. He's sure his face is cast in partial shadow, which he prays obscures the fact that his eye won’t stop twitching.

Viktor stands before him expectantly. Watching. Waiting. How can he stand there so easily, hands in his pockets, easy smile on his face, without a care in the world? Yuuri feels like he's on the verge of fainting, and quickly rehearses what he'd carefully planned out. He needs to hurry before Viktor gets bored of his fidgeting and leaves.

“You remember our word, right?” First thing on his mental checklist. Yuuri figures it’s best to ask, no matter how ridiculous it makes him feel.

“Gold.”

“Right. Don’t be afraid to use it, okay?”

“Same to you.” Viktor’s eyes crinkle as he says this, and Yuuri fidgets. Again.

“On your knees, please?”

Viktor sinks slowly, slight smirk spreading across his face as he does so. Yuuri isn’t sure he likes the sight of it. Is he mocking him? Yeah, he could have said that command a bit more forcefully, but he doesn’t want to take things too far too early on. He’d done as much research as he could about being a respectful and responsible dom, determined to make their transition from strangers to partners as smooth and natural as possible. So when is Viktor going to start taking him more seriously?

Viktor seems to sense his discomfort, and the smirk fades into a somewhat apologetic smile. “Sorry, Yuuri, you’re just so cute --”

He’d been reaching out a hand to give him a consoling pat on the knee, but freezes with his fingers over rough denim at the tone of Yuuri’s voice when he speaks.

“I didn’t give you permission to touch me.”

Yuuri hasn’t moved, but Viktor flinches back as if he’d been burned, eyes wide with shock and amazement. Any trace of cockiness has been wiped away, replaced with something quiet and anticipatory. 

“When you speak to me,” Yuuri starts, willing his voice not to waver, “you’ll refer to me as ‘Master Eros.’ Or just ‘Master.’ Whenever we do a scene, I mean. If that’s okay?”

He’s losing steam fast, but his gaze doesn’t falter, eyes locked with the man kneeling in front of him. He sees the hint of a smile tug at the corners of Viktor’s lips, but his face remains straight, and he nods at him eagerly.

“Yes, Master Eros.”

Yuuri nods in return, careful not to seem too relieved, and steels himself for his next move. He’d been practicing for days, closing his eyes and extending his hand and imagining Viktor’s heated skin beneath it, his hair running so smoothly between his fingers. 

He’s ready.

Yuuri reaches out to him, fingers brushing against his cheek delicately for a brief moment before moving toward the back of his head. The hair there is short and silken, perfect for digging his nails into ever so slightly. And that’s exactly what he does, making repetitive and soothing motions from the top of Viktor's scalp down toward the nape of his neck.

It seems to take Viktor some time to realize that he’s being pet, and he stares at Yuuri in what looks like surprise, face slowly blooming into color. He doesn’t say anything, doesn't react in a way that suggests he doesn't like it, but he also doesn’t do anything beyond just gaping at him and occasionally blinking.

Before Yuuri can draw his hand away in a blind panic, Viktor finally moves, tilting his head and pushing into the tips of Yuuri’s fingers. Yuuri scratches a little harder, pressing a spot behind his ear, and Viktor groans low in his throat, eyes fluttering shut as he melts under his touch.

He looks like he’s enjoying it, but the silence is almost unnerving, and Yuuri starts to fret until he remembers that he hasn’t allowed Viktor to speak.

“How does that feel?”

“Good,” Viktor mumbles, leaning further into the fingers scritching at his head with an air of impatience.

Yuuri wants to pull away and gently chastise him for not using his title, but as he cups Viktor's head with both hands and drags his nails down his scalp, he decides that he’s enjoying himself too much to really care. Not enforcing discipline may be a mistake, a misstep that could make Viktor lose any respect and awe for him, but he never wants to look away from the slow bliss spreading across Viktor’s features as he loses himself to pure sensation.

And something about him has definitely slipped away, something that’s always seemed so guarded and almost smugly secretive, leaving behind a Viktor that’s nearly vulnerable. It's amazing how quickly the change had come over him, and Yuuri entertains the brief notion that this may be a side to Viktor that only he has ever seen. No one else has ever brought Viktor to this state. No one else has ever made Viktor so soft, so pliant, so warm in their bare hands. Only Yuuri. And the more Viktor melts, the more Yuuri realizes that he needs to make a new move.

Both hands slip lower until they're cupping the sides of Viktor’s face, and Viktor’s eyes struggle open as Yuuri brushes his thumbs across his cheeks gingerly. He looks dazed, almost as if he’s forgotten where he is, and Yuuri’s sure that this is the moment to lean forward, to take command of his view and let him know that he’s here, now, and it’s just the two of them that matter more than anything else in the world.

“Viktor,” he says softly, looking down at him. He pauses, cocking his head as a thought occurs to him. “Do you have… a name you preferred to be called? When you’re like this?”

He prays that it isn’t a stupid question, not wanting to drag Viktor from the state of mind he’d achieved in such a short time, but nothing in Viktor’s face seems to indicate that. He looks pleased, actually, lazy smile unfurling across his lips.

“Vitya,” he says dreamily. “Please call me Vitya, Master.”

“Vitya,” Yuuri whispers.

Viktor shivers at the sound, arching his back languidly and stretching further into Yuuri’s grasp. He starts to nuzzle his nose into his palm, and Yuuri watches in content amusement. Until Viktor nips at him without warning.

“Hey!” Yuuri pulls away and frowns down on a cheeky little grin. “What was that for?”

Viktor tilts his head and says nothing, eyes alight with mischief in a face fighting to maintain innocence. He doesn’t seem too put out by the fact that Yuuri’s stopped petting him, looking very satisfied with himself instead.

He wants to be punished, Yuuri recalls, feeling a dark chill run down his spine. Punished. He isn’t sure he’s even thought that far ahead, and now they’ve barely begun and Viktor’s already expecting a heavy hand. Yuuri doesn’t want to disappoint him. But he won’t push it, either. Something easy, but not  _ too _ easy. But what?

“Are you being bad on purpose, Vitya?”

Viktor, though still kneeling, rises slightly, as if meaning to move his face closer to Yuuri’s, teasing quip no doubt quivering on his lips, but Yuuri stops him with a bare foot on top of his thigh and a light push.

“Stay down.”

The air shifts around them, something tense crackling between them as Viktor freezes for a moment, eyes huge and mouth hanging slightly open. He plops back down after a few seconds of stunned silence, and the movement shifts Yuuri’s foot toward his inner thigh. The muscle there is so hard that Yuuri wonders if it’s just his jeans that are too tight, but when he applies pressure and no soft flesh gives way beneath the fabric, he realizes that Viktor’s entire body is taut and starting to tremble. When Yuuri shifts his foot, Viktor’s hips twitch, drawing Yuuri’s eyes to his lap.

_ “Oh,” _ he whispers, eyes widening enormously, “my God, you -- uh, you’re into this, aren’t you?”

Had Viktor ever mentioned anything about having a foot fetish to him? He isn’t sure. They’d given the run-down of their hard limits as well as things they were generally fond of, preferring to let the rest develop naturally. He definitely would have remembered something along the lines of ‘I’d love for you to crush my dick beneath the heel of your foot’ among the texts Viktor had sent him in the past week. Although Yuuri had discovered that it was actually one of the most commons kinks out there, most places he’d searched tended to agree that admitting so was a bit embarrassing. Yuuri can’t really blame Viktor if he’d been waiting to bring it up. After all, Yuuri himself has a few things he definitely wouldn’t go about sharing so readily, and at least one that would leave him thoroughly humiliated for the rest of his life if he so much as spoke of it aloud.

_ I like being left aching and unsatisfied and humiliated. _

He almost whispers  _ ‘oh’ _ again, struck by the sheer weight of the power he remembers he now holds in his hands. Viktor wants to be teased and denied. He wants to be humiliated. How?

Yuuri lets his foot wander as he contemplates that, watching Viktor’s face closely as it nears his crotch. The initial shock of seeing him hard has mostly worn off, and Yuuri now has the courage to let his eyes drop to his growing bulge, his cheeks flushing as his heart races. Now that he knows exactly what lies beyond Viktor's jeans, having inspected photos very closely in his spare time, seeing it so modestly hidden is somehow even more alluring. He wants to see it in its full and gold-studded glory. But not yet.

Yuuri presses his foot to one side of Viktor’s cock, and the reaction he gets is immediate. Legs spread, back arched, face red, chest heaving. And trembling. His entire body, trembling, thrumming like a live wire, and when Yuuri nudges closer and feels his bulge twitch, he decides to push him further.

“Is this what you want, Vitya? To be punished for being bad?”

Viktor grits his teeth and whines when Yuuri pulls away, raising his hips in an attempt to follow. But Yuuri’s foot is at his abdomen now, gently but swiftly pushing him onto his back.

“But if I just give you what you want, is it really punishment?”

Another whine, but this one tapers into a low grumble. A growl? Yuuri’s having a hard time processing, because Viktor’s spreading his legs wider, body straining as he angles his hips out toward him impatiently. It’s very distracting. He’ll have to get used to this if he wants to maintain more than two brain cells to rub together anytime Viktor tries to tempt him. The handful he has left is desperately trying to cobble together a command that’ll satisfy both of them.

“Be good and calm down and I’ll give it to you,” Yuuri settles on, placing a foot just between Viktor’s legs and letting it hover above the fully hardened length of him. 

Viktor stills, breathing in sharply, then exhales in a soft moan as Yuuri presses his foot down onto his cock. The heat seeps through the fabric of his jeans and into Yuuri’s toes at once, and he can even feel the throbbing, feel Viktor twitch when he moves, rubbing slowly up and down the shaft. Viktor’s head is thrown back, strangled sounds escaping his lips and hips churning as he tries to rub himself faster against Yuuri’s foot. Yuuri drags it down until his toes are lightly pressed to Viktor’s balls, and Viktor freezes immediately, gasp catching in his throat.

“Don’t be so impatient, Vitya. Are you trying to come? I haven’t even given you permission.”

Viktor stares at him warily, though the heavy cloud of desire darkening his eyes makes it almost hard to tell. He’s excited… and scared? Not scared enough to use their word, but Yuuri softens anyway, removing his foot carefully and searching his face for any signs of distress. Viktor visibly relaxes, looking up coyly through his lashes at him, and Yuuri notices the small smirk far too late.

“I’m sorry, Master. Please, keep punishing me?”

Son of a  _ bitch, _ Yuuri thinks, biting his lip to stop from laughing. Viktor is slick, cunning, and totally underestimating him. But Yuuri is starting to see it as less of an insult and more of a challenge. And this time, he isn’t backing down. He’s going to put the fear of God into this man  _ and _ his dick.

The smirk is wiped off Viktor’s face once Yuuri steps on him again, mouth slackening and lips parting for soft sighs as Yuuri slowly applies more force to his rubbing. His foot moves with more confidence, pace increasing until Viktor, who’d been trying so hard to keep still, starts to crack, letting out a lengthy moan and bucking his hips in desperation. Yuuri doesn’t miss a beat, immediately digging his heel into the base of Viktor’s cock hard enough to make the man yelp.

“Vitya.”

That’s all it takes. That’s all he needs to say to get Viktor to quiet down, to calm himself, to look up at him with nothing but reverence shining brightly in his blue eyes. He doesn’t need to speak for Yuuri to hear the careful tones of ‘yes, Master?’ in that gaze.

Yuuri doesn’t speak either, just watches in delight as Viktor tries to control himself when he starts to rub him with his foot again. Faster and faster, until high-pitched whimpers tremble into hitching gasps. Then Yuuri stops, resting his foot on Viktor’s thigh and watching him grit his teeth in frustration. Part of him feels guilty for not giving Viktor what he wants, but what Viktor also wants is to be denied, and as Yuuri continues to tease him -- bringing him to the brink of orgasm before drawing away and leaving him groaning and nearly in tears -- he feels much less sorry for him. It’s what he deserves for being so good, after all.

“Please,” Viktor chokes out after the third time Yuuri leaves him on the edge and shivering in anticipation.

“Hm?” Yuuri’s finding it difficult to concentrate. His own body is trembling just as much, his jeans far too tight, but he wants to focus on giving Viktor what he needs. “‘Please,’ what?”

“Please, Master,” Viktor says hurriedly, “let me come. Please?”

Yuuri considers this, looking him up and down for a long moment before speaking.

“Come here.”

Viktor scrambles up off his back, hands skittering across the tiled floor as he crawls forward until he’s on his knees again right in front of Yuuri’s lap. His legs are spread wide, the large and uncomfortable bulge still raging between them. Yuuri has the strongest desire to see it. To see all of Viktor laid bare before him. All of Viktor belongs to him, doesn’t it?

“Vitya. Take off your shirt.”

It’s unbuttoned and peeled off in mere seconds, sticking slightly to sweat-dampened skin before rolling over and off broad shoulders that shrug it to the floor. The same divinely sculpted chest and stomach Yuuri remembers in bits and pieces from the club, from photos sent to him, from his dreams, but in the intimacy of his own bedroom, with the knowledge that these are now things that are  _ his,  _ it’s all he can do not to reach out and claim them. Viktor must sense this, must see it in his eyes, because he tilts his head playfully, arching his back so that the swell of his pecs pushes forward, the gold of his nipple bars glinting in the dim lamplight. The dangling ring at his navel catches the light as well, and the room is so quiet that Yuuri can hear the tiny jingle the jewelry makes as it shifts against his stomach. It draws Yuuri’s eyes down low, down to the spot he’d been entertaining himself with for the evening.

And just like that, Yuuri decides that he can’t take it anymore. He can’t ignore his own bulge, the straining in his pants telling him that it’s his turn to be teased. Except Yuuri would get to finish. And he already knows exactly how.

There’s nothing coy left in Viktor’s expression when Yuuri unbuttons and unzips his jeans -- all traces of playfulness vanish at the sight of Yuuri drawing out his cock. He’s almost fully hard, but it doesn’t take too long to get all the way there with the way Viktor licks his lips and tracks each pump of Yuuri’s fist with starving eyes. 

Even on his current cloud of ecstasy, it isn’t easy for Yuuri not to look away in embarrassment. He hasn’t sent Viktor any fully nude photos of himself yet, opting instead for tastefully half-clothed but no less suggestive ones. But he knows precisely just what Viktor thinks of this part of him, partially because Viktor had already seen him once through the fetish club’s gloryhole, and partially because Viktor had never hesitated to remind him that he’d gladly kill for the chance to choke on his perfect thickness all over again. In his own words, of course.

“Vitya,” Yuuri says, trying to keep his voice steady as he continues to stroke himself. “Play with your nipples.”

It sounds so stupid coming out of his mouth, but not to Viktor, who flushes deeply and doesn’t hesitate to roll and pinch his gold bars between his fingers. His nipples are hard and a little puffy, and Yuuri desperately wants to touch them himself, because they seem sensitive. They must be, because Viktor makes soft noises in the back of his throat as he pulls at them, brushing his thumbs over them and even flicking them hard. All for Yuuri’s amusement.

All for me, Yuuri thinks a little deliriously, feeling himself start to build up way too fast. He slows his pace and takes a steadying breath, but it almost isn’t enough to fight the dizzying high. He can’t come already. What the hell happened to his stamina?

Viktor happened, of course. Viktor is happening right in front of him, pink all over and glistening and whimpering and so hot against his cold floor. And Yuuri still wants to see more.

But just a peek. Yuuri’s not sure he can handle much else.

“Vitya.” Yuuri can barely keep the waver out of his voice this time. “Show me your cock.”

Viktor’s hands shoot to undo the front of his jeans immediately, tugging them down around his knees, then pulling his tight black bikini briefs down about as teasingly slow as he can manage -- which is still at lightning speed, but Yuuri mentally praises him for attempting patience.

And finally, Yuuri’s faced with Viktor’s dick, in the flesh, real and springing out to meet him. He shouldn’t be so shocked at how huge it is, considering photos and close encounters with fabric-covered bulges, but Yuuri’s jaw drops without him, thin line of drool nearly spilling out as he eyes its length, gaze finally resting on the gleaming gold embedded around the head. Viktor had told him that these are called dydoe piercings, which Yuuri had never heard of before, but on Viktor, they’re the most perfect things he’s ever seen. Yuuri wants to know how they’d feel inside of him -- in his hand, in his mouth, in his ass -- and he’s so engulfed in fantasizing about the sensation that it takes him a few seconds to notice that Viktor’s hand, which had been innocently holding up his shaft for Yuuri’s glazed but inspecting stare, is now slowly but surely pumping it.

“Ah,” Yuuri chastises him, pressing a foot firmly into his thigh, “don’t play with yourself. Bad.”

Viktor recoils as if he’d been stricken by something harder than just the soft reproach in Yuuri’s words, and he dutifully places both hands behind him. But Yuuri should have known that this would be more than just an act of obedience, because now Viktor leans back on his hands, legs spread wide and hips churning toward him. Yuuri bites his lip hard, hand working just as hard, the sweat rolling down his face as Viktor rolls his body sinuously before and beneath him, tempting him to come closer. Yuuri hadn’t told him to do this, but words of praise are on the tip of his tongue either way.

“You’re so good, Vitya,” Yuuri groans, beating himself faster as he watches Viktor’s cock bounce.

“Mmm,” Viktor purrs, undulating his hips slowly, “thank you, Rosya.”

_ Rosya? _ Yuuri laughs a little breathlessly, caught off guard. “What?” 

“It’s a nickname. Cute, isn’t it?” Viktor’s the very picture of not-quite-innocence, nearly naked and smiling up at him angelically. He even flutters his lashes at him. An overstep.

“Yes,” Yuuri agrees, pausing to thumb the head of his cock and noticing Viktor’s sweet expression go dark. “A little  _ too _ cute. Put your cock away, Vitya.”

Viktor gapes at him in disbelief that borders on defiance, but a hard look has him scrambling to pull his underwear up again, stuffing himself back into it very reluctantly. The thin straps snap back against his hips with some force as he looks back up at Yuuri rather sullenly.

“Come here.” Yuuri pats his knee.

Viktor’s chin is there at once, resting against it and looking back and forth between Yuuri’s face and his cock, like a dog begging for permission to devour a treat. Yuuri hopes he isn’t too put out when he finds out he won’t be getting this treat today, despite how much Yuuri wants to give it to him.

He steels himself for the moment he’d wanted ever since Viktor had first taken him into his mouth at the club. The moment he’d fantasized about so vividly, imagining a room with no stalls and no condom between them. Just an expectant and adoring face, upturned to receive everything he has to give.

“Vitya. Master’s going to come on your face.” Viktor perks up, but a raised hand stills him. “But I want you to do something for me. And you have to do it right.”

Blue eyes bore into his intently, waiting for instructions to obey. Yuuri takes a deep breath, then adjusts his leg, sliding it between Viktor’s. He’s still got his pants around his knees, but after a moment’s consideration, Yuuri decides that he wants them to stay that way. They make him look more desperate. And that makes Yuuri feel more in control.

“Rub yourself on me, Vitya. I want you to hump me.” God, it sounds so  _ stupid,  _ but at this point, he’s come to terms with the fact that most of his fantasies probably do _. _ “I-I want you to hump my leg. But,” he adds, voice stern as Viktor eagerly positions himself, “you aren’t allowed to come. If you do, I’ll be  _ very _ unhappy.”

Viktor nods, and without further ado, ruts his hips against Yuuri’s leg. Even through the fabric of his jeans, he feels the heat of Viktor’s cock, feels how damp his underwear is with pre-come. Yuuri won’t last long, and knows as he strokes himself faster that he’ll tip over the edge soon, feeling Viktor’s body wracked with shudders each time he rubs his cock against him. He leans into him heavily, almost clumsily with the jeans still around his legs, and Yuuri had been right, he does look absolutely desperate for contact, desperate for sweet friction, desperate to touch him in some way despite the layers separating them. Viktor’s far too big for that ridiculous scrap of underwear he’s got on, and each time the head of his cock slips out, Yuuri can tell, because Viktor’s moans hitch into whines that make Yuuri’s eyes water as he grips his own cock tighter.

Yuuri grabs Viktor by his jaw, slack and slick with drool, forcing his head up and looking into his eyes. Such a beautiful shade of blue. Yuuri’s never seen it before, he’s sure. Blue in a sea of daintily fluttering silver and incensed and glistening red, and gold -- gold gleaming in the pink tongue that rolls out slowly, unfurling down the length of his chin, pleading; gold in the face of a man dying of thirst and begging for Yuuri to please  _ give it to him. _

Yuuri whimpers loudly, willpower crumbling, and jerks Viktor’s face closer, and the feel of him still rutting wildly against his leg, still moaning loudly just for him, just for the simple and sheer honor of being allowed to rub himself against any inch of him, is enough to bring Yuuri to the brink.

The words ‘open wider for me’ are on the tip of his tongue, but his cock is much faster, and before either of them can get enough of a warning, Yuuri’s spurting thickly across Viktor’s face, cum shooting into his mouth and over his nose and forehead.

Yuuri collapses forward, panting hard and shaking harder, releasing his cock to grip Viktor’s head with both hands and staying like that for a moment. Eyes closed, bliss settling over him in waves, he presses a kiss to the top of Viktor’s head without thinking. When he catches his breath and pulls away, he immediately feels like a jackass. He hasn’t told Viktor to stop yet. Viktor’s still on his knees, rutting against him weakly, his face splattered with Yuuri’s cum. Some of it’s even caught in his eyelashes and in his hair. Yuuri’s own messy fingers have made things even worse.

“You can, um, stop now. You don’t have to keep humping me,” he says awkwardly, scrambling for a towel he’d kept on the bed for this exact purpose.

Viktor almost collapses as well, looking exhausted, but not particularly satisfied, cheeks still flushed with frustration. Yuuri’s pleased to see that he’s still hard and hasn’t come yet. He’s also relieved, because he honestly hadn’t been sure what he’d have done to him as punishment if he had disobeyed. He should probably work on that next.

After gently wiping as much as he can with the towel, Yuuri takes Viktor’s face in his hands again, caressing his cheeks with his thumbs. He once again finds himself absently kissing the top of his head.

“Good boy, Vitya. You were amazing. I loved every second of it.”

Something in Viktor’s face shifts beyond just the satisfaction of being praised. There’s a quiet joy in him, a deep pleasure that Yuuri thinks may have overshadowed any pleasure that would have been brought by physical release. For just a moment, he thinks he finally understands just why someone would put themselves through that sort of torment.

“Thank you, Master.”

There’s a short pause in which neither of them seem to know what to do next. So they stare. Viktor’s face is so warm in Yuuri’s hands, and he doesn’t want to let go. He doesn’t want to look away either, his usual shyness replaced by a boldness he’s never known before. Finally, Viktor’s eyes slowly trail down until they rest in Yuuri’s lap, and Yuuri’s very aware by the uncomfortably cold wetness that his cock is still out.

“I can clean that for you,” Viktor starts sweetly, but Yuuri scrambles to his feet, turning away to hastily stuff himself back into his boxers.

“I’m fine! I’ll just shower. You can join me, if you want.”

The last part slips out without him even realizing, and he busies himself with undressing, tense and waiting as Viktor seems to think this over. Yuuri’s too afraid to turn around and see his expression. What if he says no? Or, possibly worse,  _ what if he says yes? _

What Viktor says next, however, completely throws him off.

“Is that a tramp stamp?”

Yuuri freezes, shirt hitched up where he’d been about to strip it off, then turns to find Viktor eyeing his ass in scandalized amusement. Yuuri grins sheepishly at him.

“I- well, yes? I’ve never shown it to you?” He pauses, expecting Viktor to come take a closer look, but he doesn’t. He remains kneeling, and that damn smirk is back on his face.

“You can stand now,” Yuuri says dryly, watching Viktor rise to his feet with a theatrically exaggerated stretch. He bends over much slower than necessary to hitch his pants back up, buttoning them as he moves closer. He smells like sweat and heat. Yuuri turns quickly to let him inspect the tattoo, grateful not to have to look him in the face. The memory of what had been sprayed across that face not even five minutes ago is too fresh in his mind, and his own starts to redden.

“It’s a snowflake.” Viktor’s still smirking, Yuuri’s sure of it. He isn’t usually one to show off his tattoo, partially because he sometimes forgets he has it, and partially because it’s not particularly cool. The story behind it is much less so.

“Yeah, uh… I kind of… had a drunken dare with Phichit one night. Like, a long time ago, soon after I moved here. I lost, clearly.”

“Hey, it’s not bad at all,” Viktor’s fingers press lightly against the small of his back, and Yuuri bites his lip to stifle a gasp. “Hope you didn’t get this while drunk. My roommate would drive over here and kick your ass. Her girlfriend’s a tattoo artist.”

“No, definitely not! It was much later. I didn’t even really have to get it, but I gave my word and I wanted to go through with it. I wanted to do something crazy and out there. Well, I guess it’s not  _ that _ crazy, is it? And there’s not really any meaning to it,” he adds, before Viktor inevitably asks, as most people do. “I just chose a simple design off the wall. I’ve always liked snow. It snowed the day I was born, which was pretty unusual for the time of year.”

He’s babbling inanely right now and he knows it, but he’s not sure what else to do. Viktor’s fingers are ghosting along each branch and angle of the snowflake, and Yuuri’s amazed it hasn’t melted right off of his skin. Does Viktor know how sensitive he is in that spot? Yuuri doesn’t think he’s ever told him. He should tell him. Before his skin bursts into flames.

“Oh? That’s very interesting. Where were you born?”

“Hasetsu,” Yuuri says, voice cracking slightly. “In Japan.”

“I’d love to hear more about that someday.”

It sounds genuine, which takes Yuuri by surprise. It’s always a shock to hear that someone actually wants to know things about him. Not many people seem to care about the ordinary and everyday details of his life. He turns back around slowly, but Viktor’s fingers remain against his skin, tracing a path around his waist until they settle against his stomach as they face each other. Viktor, ever amused by Yuuri’s every action, is looking down at him with an expression Yuuri has a hard time reading. But he can tell that something is about to happen, though what the hell that could possibly be is something he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to predict when it comes to Viktor Nikiforov.

Viktor leans in closer, hand sliding around and behind Yuuri to press against the dip in his back again, fingers teasing the inked skin. Yuuri fights down a hard shiver as he looks up, dazed, into half-lidded and smoldering eyes, partially obscured by wayward strands of silver hair.

“You really aren’t going to let me come, Rosya?”

Once the initial shock wears off, Yuuri’s grin is slow but sure, and positively wicked, if the widening of Viktor’s eyes is anything to go by.

“Just for that, you aren’t allowed to come next time, either. I’ll decide when and where you’ll do it, Vitya, and you’ll obey. Is that clear?”

In the silence that follows, Yuuri prays to whatever gods are listening that he hadn’t overstepped his boundaries, hadn’t made Viktor uncomfortable in any way with his sudden assertiveness.

But he sees the change in Viktor at once, sees the defiance slip from his posture as swiftly as he feels his bold fingers slip away from his skin. Viktor regards him the way he had on his knees, with respect in his eyes and humility in his voice.

“Yes, Master.” Then, because he’s Viktor, as Yuuri is quickly coming to learn, the corner of his mouth twitches into an almost-smile. “And I think I’ll take that shower, too.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience!! It's taken me a little while to get back into the swing of returning to my WIPs, so thanks for still sticking around! I hope the lengthy chapter makes up for it a little qwq

Viktor is a man of his word -- on the rare occasion that he remembers said word -- and so he happily pads after Yuuri toward the bathroom for that proposed shower. He can tell that Yuuri is still in disbelief that he’d _actually_ offered, and isn’t about to waste time in hopping on that opportunity.

And maybe he can hop on something else while he's at it.

No, he tells himself firmly, closing the door carefully behind him and watching Yuuri twist the shower taps. He’s supposed to be _behaving._ Yuuri is clearly a fan of taking things torturously slow, if the dull bruised feeling in his balls is anything to go by. It’s a delicious ache, the sort he likes to lie back and savor as he dreams of the release being withheld from him. It’s rare that he finds someone who can make him actually want it this bad, actually crave this cruel denial, but the look on Yuuri’s face when he’d gotten such total obedience had sold him. It had been worth the painful edging, and he’d do it again and again -- even wait until the end of the world itself. He has complete confidence that he can outlast Yuuri’s expectations.

And then Yuuri’s jeans drop, his boxers along with them, and Viktor forgets how to do anything that isn’t vividly imagining his face buried deep between those perfectly round cheeks.

This’ll be a _lot_ harder than he’d thought.

Yuuri turns to him, halfway through speaking, then stops abruptly. Viktor’s eyes snap back up to his face immediately, and he sees that it’s growing flushed, and not likely due to the steam slowly filling the room. He must have noticed the way Viktor had been staring. Good.

“You should, uh,” Yuuri says hoarsely, pausing to clear his throat, “you should take yours off, too. To shower.”

Viktor grins wickedly as his hands shoot to the waistband of his own jeans, eager to put on a show of slowly stripping them off, but Yuuri’s already flung his glasses aside and turned back around to step into the shower in a hurry. Well, so much for that. But, undaunted as always, Viktor’s prepared to entertain. He’ll just have to give Yuuri a much closer show.

He enters the shower cautiously, watching Yuuri, who’s standing with his back very pointedly toward him, soaping himself up quickly. Carefully, like approaching a wild animal, Viktor reaches out until his fingers brush the slick skin of Yuuri’s shoulder. Yuuri tenses, hand clutching the bath sponge he’d just been scrubbing against his neck. Viktor’s fingers slide slowly up to where the sponge hovers, nails scraping against the grit of its surface.

“I offered, didn’t I?” Viktor says, voice low and gentle in Yuuri’s reddening ear.

At least Yuuri seems to recall the earlier quip about cleaning him off -- although his mumbled response is lost beneath the drumming of water, he releases his grip on the sponge and nods. He still doesn’t turn around, but Viktor doesn’t mind. He’s a very patient man. Sometimes.

Viktor soaps up the sponge again and, with a great deal of reverence and an even greater deal of ogling, begins to wash his master. Yuuri, to his credit, manages to remain still for the most part, not twitching until the sponge scrubs its way from the base of his skull to the base of his spine. He must be sensitive in that spot. In fact, Viktor’s sure he’d felt him quivering when he’d been running his finger along the outline of his tattoo. He wants to do it again, but thinks better of it.

 _Behave_ , he tries to tell himself again, but as he gently nudges Yuuri to indicate that he needs to turn and face him if he expects a thorough washing, he finds his willpower being tested once again. Yuuri is practically scarlet, eyes fixed on a point beyond Viktor’s left ear, jaw clenched so tight that he looks like he might explode. How is this the same man who’d snatched him by the chin and had him begging for a faceful of cum?

It’s bizarre, but not as bizarre as the fact that Viktor is utterly smitten with such an oddball. When was the last time he’d ever washed a dom, or done anything for a dom beyond thanking them for their services and leaving as soon as possible? He’s such a perfect picture of the ideal sub right now that he has to snort back his laughter. This doesn’t escape Yuuri’s notice, despite his seeming determination to study the shower wall over Viktor’s shoulder.

“What’s so funny?”

“This,” Viktor says sweetly, raising the sopping wet sponge above Yuuri’s head and squeezing.

A truly surprising amount of water manages to burst from it, running down Yuuri’s face and Viktor’s arm in steady streams. Yuuri sputters in shock and shakes his head rapidly, and Viktor reaches out to brush away the hair plastered to his forehead very fondly. Brown eyes blink up at him, droplets clinging to slick and quivering lashes that frame them. Viktor stares, transfixed, as one streaks down Yuuri’s cheek.

“You’re weird,” Yuuri mumbles, finally looking away, but Viktor’s delighted to see that he’s fighting down a smile.

“I am,” Viktor says mournfully, rubbing the sponge down the side of Yuuri’s neck to his shoulder with thorough strokes. “It’s why no one wants me. Like one of those old dogs at the shelter. It’s tragic, really.”

Yuuri frowns at him, clearly not sure if he should take him seriously. “That’s not true! Some people like old dogs.”

“Ouch.”

“No! That’s not -- I mean, uh, sometimes even old dogs can learn new tricks, right?”

That doesn’t sound much better, but it puts the ball nicely in Viktor’s court, and he doesn’t hesitate to strike.

“Oh, I know plenty of tricks, Yuuri,” Viktor says, voice low and dripping with suggestion as he inclines his head closer. “Maybe I can show you sometime soon.”

The sponge in his grasp drags down Yuuri’s chest in one slow and deliberate motion, lower and lower, until it rests at his groin. Instead of following the wet and soapy path marked over taut and twitching skin, Viktor’s eyes remain locked on Yuuri’s. That warm amber darkens as pupils expand, and the white around them widens enormously when Viktor’s sponge brushes the base of its mark. Viktor draws even closer, delighting in the sharp intake of breath from the man before him, and pauses before their mouths can brush.

“Can I show you?” he whispers, lowering his gaze to those trembling lips. _“_ _Master. ”_

His fingers dig into the soft sponge, squeezing it so that streams of water trickle down between Yuuri’s thighs, and the shuddering gasp it draws is so deeply satisfying that Viktor almost doesn’t register his mistake until it’s too late. Yuuri, red-faced and overwhelmed, pulls back abruptly enough for Viktor’s hands to shoot out on pure instinct to steady him, but they lose their grip on the soapy skin. Yuuri yelps as his feet slip noisily against the slick shower tiles, and when he falls, he takes Viktor down with him. They land with a wet smack and a harmonized groan that reverberates loudly off the bathroom walls.

When Viktor finally struggles up from where he’s lying prone across his unfortunate master, sputtering beneath the onslaught of water, he’s pleased to see that he’d managed to cradle Yuuri’s head in the fall. Yuuri coughs and squints up at him, stunned and flustered.

“Fuck,” he says weakly.

“Fuck,” Viktor agrees. “Come on, up you go. You’re okay, right?”

He helps him back up to his feet as gingerly as he can, keeping a firm hand at his waist as they both find their balance again. Yuuri nods in thanks, shaking his hair out of his vision and running a hand down his face in embarrassment. An eye peeks out from between its fingers, fixing Viktor with a baleful glare.

“Okay -- no more flirting in the shower.”

“Oh, is that an order, Master?” Viktor purrs, and promptly receives a handful of water to the face.

They manage the rest of their shower without any flirtation-related deaths, thankfully, and now Viktor watches Yuuri out of the corner of his eye as they dry and dress themselves, curious and concerned all at once. He hadn’t pushed too far, had he? It had seemed all fun and games between the two of them, a fact for which Viktor is both grateful and stunned. He’s always taken by surprise whenever Yuuri plays along with his teasing. Which makes him want to tease him even more.

But clearly something must have gone wrong. Why had Yuuri pulled away from him like that? He’ll have to play it safer from now on. _Behave._

“Well, I think I’ll be heading out now,” Viktor says as casually as he can. Yuuri stops in the middle of toweling his hair and looks at him in some surprise, but Viktor can’t tell if he looks disappointed. He doesn’t want to hazard a guess, either.

“Oh. Okay, I’ll just…” he trails off, seeming at a loss for words, before beckoning Viktor back into the bedroom.

Viktor pulls his shirt on, buttoning it deliberately slow while he waits for Yuuri to say something. He clearly wants to, with the way he’s hovering and staring. Or maybe he’s just enjoying the view. Viktor can’t blame him. He catches him gawking when he turns to face him, and the silence stretches out between them in a way Viktor can’t determine is uncomfortable or not. Yuuri opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again, and Viktor decides that this is awkward after all. He wants to rush over and close Yuuri’s mouth with his own, but he refrains, settling for a raised eyebrow in his direction.

“Well,” Yuuri finally says, a bit too loudly. “I’ll show you out?”

Passing through the living room again, Viktor throws one last coveted look at the smiling and relaxed Yuuri in the photos of the collage on the wall. Worlds away from the nerve-wracked man leading him to the front door. Will he ever be trusted enough to see a carefree Yuuri? Not if he keeps fucking up. He’ll be more careful next time. He’ll be a better pet, more obedient and quiet and well-behaved.

Yuuri holds the door open for him, chewing at his lip but maintaining steady eye contact.

“I had a really great time,” he says, sounding so earnest that Viktor wants to take him in his arms. “Can I see you next weekend, too?”

Viktor slips by close enough to almost brush against him as he takes his leave, and the smell of soap and hair and _Yuuri_ is nearly enough to make him drop to his knees and beg to be allowed to stay.

But he just tips him a wink and grins. “Anything you want, Master!”

Yuuri’s smiling face is the last thing he sees before the door shuts, and the last thing he sees that night before he drifts off to sleep, determined more than ever before to keep that smile there permanently. He’ll see it again in just one week, he knows it.

And that week, predictably, goes by as slowly as possible. Viktor, meanwhile, dies just as slowly, languishing in bed in his free time and daydreaming about Yuuri coming all over his face. With the initial shock of their encounter having worn off, he’s had a lot to reflect on. Though, he really shouldn’t be spending so long doing so. It only makes his torture that much more unbearable. The bit of Yuuri he’d been allowed to taste had been enough to leave him aching for more, to the point where just closing his eyes and imagining the thick cum dripping down his chin has his skin prickling with agonized anticipation.

 _God_ , how does he do it? If any other dom had ever been so nervous and awkward in front of him, he might have gotten up and left, and not without plenty of laughter. But Yuuri had taken control of him so effortlessly, trembling hands grabbing the reins of their scene with an iron grip. He replays the scene over and over, insatiable and yet unable to satisfy himself to a much-needed finish.

“He’s not human,” Viktor explains to Makkachin, even though she never asked. Her ears perk up, but she pretends to keep sleeping to avoid having to listen to him gushing over Yuuri for the next three hours. Fair enough.

At least Georgi is more willing to listen. In fact, he seems to be the only one who will. Viktor thinks he detects the slightest bit of wistful envy from him every time Yuuri is mentioned, though. He must still not be over his latest breakup.

“To be young and in love again,” Georgi sighs, lounging on the sofa beside him one afternoon after entertaining his Yuuri-related sorrows.

“I wouldn’t know about either of those things,” Viktor assures him, stretching to his feet and heading toward the kitchen for a glass of wine. He’s feeling particularly miserable tonight, and is not at all looking forward to his scheduled camming session. A bit of wine should help. No one would have to know.

“Drinking already?” a voice snorts from the front door. Yuri walks in, shrugging off his backpack and raising an eyebrow at Viktor’s forlorn look. “What, did your boyfriend not collar you yet or something?”

Viktor opens his mouth to shoot something back, then pauses, frowning and taking a sip of his wine. Actually, Yuuri hasn’t brought up a collar at all. The thought hadn’t crossed Viktor’s mind, either, as he’d been very serious about not wanting to push things. Especially after his last misstep. But now that he thinks of it, he feels a lot more bare without a collar, especially now that the man who currently owns him is a thousand times more special than any of the others. He wants to prove himself to Yuuri, wants to prove to the world that he belongs to him. Of course, Viktor isn’t expecting to be collared in _that_ sense, but a play collar seems like the key missing ingredient in their relationship. Maybe it would even help the both of them get into their respective mindsets much more easily for their next scene.

His fingers hover uncertainly over Yuuri’s name in his phone now. He isn’t about to text his own master asking for a collar, is he? Seems a bit impertinent, especially considering his vow to meet Yuuri in the middle and not scare him off anymore. Should he send older photos of himself wearing a few? But showing him the mark of a previous master’s ownership might be in poor taste. Even if he chose from the few collars he’d bought himself, it might still come across that way. He’ll just have to hint at it subtly. But how?

A thought strikes him, and he bursts back into his room and rummages through his drawers frantically. When he finds Makkachin’s old collar -- the one she never wears, even for walks, because Viktor isn’t a barbarian -- he rushes back over to where she’s still snoozing on his bed.

“Shh, it’s okay, girl,” he assures his sleepy poodle as he slips the collar around her neck. “Just for a few seconds!”

When he sends Yuuri a photo of Makkachin in her ‘brand new collar,’ he can only hope that he catches on.

When Yuuri immediately responds with plans to meet downtown at the little café, he grins in triumph.

The weekend approaches much faster after that, and in no time at all, he’s seated in front of Yuuri at the very same table where they’d had their first reunion. He’s surprised to find him looking so… determined? Confident? There’s a gleam in his eyes that refuses to die down, even as they sip their coffee and make small talk. Viktor is intrigued, but he’s learned that this is a common reaction of his to the enigma that is Yuuri Katsuki.

And damn if he isn’t trying his hardest to be on his best behavior, but the conversation steers toward how Viktor’s been keeping himself busy during the week, and he feels his familiar urge to tease rise to the surface with a mighty vengeance.

“Had a few of my viewers ask about you,” he slips in nonchalantly.

Yuuri’s face reddens, just as he knew it would. “Your…? _Oh. ”_

“I may or may not have hinted at having a new master,” Viktor says, grinning as Yuuri’s eyes dart around to make sure no one is within earshot. “Everyone’s dying to know about you. Especially after I told them about your cruel demand.”

Yuuri frowns at him, puzzled. “Demand?”

“Not letting me come,” Viktor says with an exaggerated sigh. He leans back in his chair and shoots Yuuri a pitiful look. “It’s been torture, you know.”

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri says in a rush, “I’m so sorry, I only meant just during our -- I-I didn’t mean to interrupt your work or anything, I just --”

“It’s fine. They like it, actually. They compete with tips to see who can get me the closest, but no one can make me break orders. I think my blue balls are giving them blue balls, and they’re all for it. Bunch of sadomasochists.”

Yuuri’s face looks closer to exploding with every mention of balls, and Viktor relents, placing a hand gently over his.

“I promise it’s okay. I’m yours to command, remember? It’s not interfering with anything -- and I’d tell you if it was.” Yuuri’s face relaxes, and Viktor goes in for the kill. “And don’t worry, I’ve faked a few dry orgasms for them --”

“Let’s go for a walk,” Yuuri says loudly, standing up much too quickly and almost upending the table. Viktor chokes back laughter as he rises much more gracefully to stroll after his retreating master.

In a much more sincere effort to behave, he sticks by Yuuri’s heels obediently as they make their way down the nearly deserted sidewalk. There’s enough space that Viktor can walk directly beside him, and Yuuri seems to notice, glancing at him over his shoulder and giving him a small smile.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I’ll do whatever you want me to,” Viktor says earnestly, keeping his voice low and for Yuuri’s ears only as he trails slightly behind him. “Don’t ever be afraid to ask.”

Yuuri hums thoughtfully but gives no command, so Viktor is content to dog his heels until he eventually slows to a deliberate halt in front of one of the stores and stares through the window. Yuuri hadn’t mentioned having any clear destination in mind for their walk, but he seems so certain now that Viktor takes a moment to admire his furrowed brow and burning eyes before turning to see where they’ve stopped.

It’s a pet shop.

“Viktor, let’s go in here.” So certain. So determined.

Viktor grins.

“Lead the way.”

The overhead bell rings out as they enter, and a commotion from a stack of nearby cages immediately joins in the din. Inside them are a few puppies and kittens up for adoption, but despite the interested look Yuuri shoots in their direction, he continues to walk past them and deeper into the store. Viktor follows, heart and mind starting to race. He wants to believe he knows where Yuuri’s leading him, but he keeps himself firmly grounded until Yuuri confirms his suspicions by pausing in front of the rack of dog collars. Viktor tries very hard to look surprised instead of utterly thrilled. He doesn’t do a very good job of it, but Yuuri isn’t facing him, so it’s the thought that counts.

“Yuuri?” he murmurs, watching the tips of his ears grow red.

“I… I thought you might… well, we’re kind of… this is important, isn’t it?” Yuuri finally turns to him, looking so helpless that Viktor melts.

“It’s only important if you want it to be.” He says it carefully, because it’s taking all of his strength not to throw himself at his feet and beg to be collared in the middle of the store. “Don’t be afraid to ask, remember?” he adds, and Yuuri visibly relaxes as he looks him over.

“It would look nice on you,” Yuuri decides quietly, after some consideration. “And it would… it would be proof that you’re mine.”

_Mine._

It’s a word that’s been tossed his way often, and one he’s been content to let slip through his fingers. But he clings to it this time and keeps it close to his chest, careful not to drop it.

When Yuuri stands slightly aside and nods toward the selection of collars, Viktor reaches out and grabs the one he’s been eyeing the entire time -- nice and sturdy black leather with soft inner padding. It looks strong, like it could hold up during rough play. He gives it an experimental tug. Yes, _very_ rough play. The thought of breaking it in already has the skin at his throat tingling in anticipation.

When he turns to present it to Yuuri and sees the matching leash already in his hands, he laughs in delight.

“Well, someone’s eager!”

 _“ Someone_ needs to keep you under control,” Yuuri mutters, turning to head toward the registers. “Come on.”

Viktor starts to follow, then ducks into the next aisle without warning when something suddenly catches his eye. Yuuri’s back at his side a moment later, looking perplexed at the detour. His gaze trails to what Viktor’s is fixed on.

“What, cages? Does Makkachin need one?”

“Makkachin doesn’t go in _cages_ ,” Viktor sniffs haughtily, strolling down the aisle until he comes across the displays for larger breeds. Yes, these would do quite nicely. It’s been a while, but he’s sure that one of these would be the perfect size.

He turns to Yuuri and stares expectantly. Yuuri stares back. Viktor decides to throw him a bone.

“It’s for me, Yuuri.”

The comically incredulous look on Yuuri’s face is softened by the spark of interest in his eyes. In fact, his scandalized expression soon turns almost coy, secretive and thrilled and piercing through Viktor in the most unfair way possible. His voice is hushed and by far the most intimate he’s ever heard from him in public.

“You’d really want that?”

“Mmm, can’t you imagine it?” Viktor lowers his voice and draws just the slightest bit nearer. “Me, in this collar, in this cage. Waiting. For you.”

Yuuri’s cheeks are as alight as his eyes now, and he stands pensive and silent and still, seeming to stare at nothing in particular. While he apparently entertains no doubt wild fantasies, Viktor turns back to the cages, examining the largest one. He slips a hand between the thin metal bars, humming thoughtfully.

“About three fingers wide. Think you can fit through?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri snorts, snapping out of his reverie, “if I diet first.”

The silence stretches on for some time, broken only by the loud screeching of one of the birds across the store. Viktor stares so very patiently, eyebrow raised so very high.

“Oh,” Yuuri says quietly. “Oh, my god. You’re talking about my dick.”

Viktor pats his shoulder very gently. “Good boy!”

Yuuri must be catching on to this whole teasing thing, because he looks Viktor up and down in an appraising way that makes him shut up immediately, then reaches out to neatly pluck the collar from his shock-slackened grip.

“I’ll get you the cage as a treat, but you have to earn it first, Vitya. Come.”

And with that, he sets off to the nearest register. Viktor trails behind him in a daze, and if he had a tail, it’d be firmly tucked between his legs. And god _damn_ if he’s not okay with that.

“Just adopted?” the cashier asks curiously, ringing up the collar and leash Yuuri hands over.

The corner of Yuuri’s mouth twitches. “Something like that.”

It takes monumental effort not to wink at the cashier over Yuuri’s shoulder. Yuuri would probably go back, get the cage after all, and lock him in it for a week straight. Viktor has to double his efforts not to do so anyway.

When they reach their cars in the lot behind the café, Yuuri pauses, worrying at his lip, and Viktor watches him patiently. Yuuri’s plans for meeting downtown hadn’t included whether or not they’d be doing anything afterward, and Viktor hadn’t intended on pressing him for info regarding their next scene. He has his hopes, of course, but carefully masks them as he waits.

“If you… uh, no one’s home today, o-or for the whole night, I think?” His ears are the shade of red Viktor finds the most adorable, and it takes everything within his power not to lean in and nip at their tips. “S-so… if you…”

“I’ll be there,” Viktor says, and the look of relief that spreads across Yuuri’s face nearly has him tripping into his car. He watches Yuuri fondly as he goes, the weight of what’s just happened settling over him. His master has bought him a collar. His master would probably put that collar on him tonight.

It’s just a play collar, of course. He isn’t being _collared_. He isn’t being claimed, isn’t being brought into Yuuri’s life permanently, to have and to hold. It isn’t like that.

Viktor ignores the part of his mind that whispers _‘ but maybe it could be,’_ and speeds home faster than usual, radio blaring.

He’s freshly showered and almost out the door hours later, small duffel bag with a change of clothes slung over his shoulder, when he receives a text from Yuuri.

_Bring something exciting._

Scrambling back to his room, he yanks open his drawer of sex toys and makes a wild grab for one of his favorites.

“Have fun,” Mila calls out knowingly, and Viktor nearly doesn’t catch the remark over the slam of the front door.

*

Yuuri’s had a lot of time to think about this. He’s actually surprised he hadn’t thought of it before, and after he’d gotten the picture of Makkachin from Viktor, it had seemed so _obvious_ that he’d wanted to smack himself for not realizing. A collar. For his pet. Of _course._

He’d dashed over to Phichit’s room immediately, plopping down on his bed and looking worried.

_‘Hey, so, a collar is pretty important for a pet, isn’t it?’_

_‘Usually,’_ Phichit had replied, not even looking up from his phone, _‘or they’ll get lost and you’ll never be able to find the owner.’_

Yuuri hadn’t found that very amusing. One pillow to the face later, Phichit had actually attempted helpful advice.

_‘You should just ask if he wants one.’_

But that hadn’t seemed right. He had felt that it should be a gift, like it was his duty to provide one for his pet. And a pet shouldn’t have to ask for their own collar. But Yuuri also hadn’t wanted to impose on him, or to take such an important step in their relationship without any indication that Viktor was ready and willing. And he’d had plenty of reason to believe that there hadn’t been an indicator at all, especially considering the shower incident.

Viktor’s face had been so close, teasing words on his lips like the droplets clinging to them, breath mingling with his own and the steam of the hot water. It had been a little embarrassing at first, having someone else bathe him, but as Viktor ran the soft sponge over his skin in expert strokes, Yuuri had been sure that he’d get used to it fairly quickly. Especially if Viktor kept doing _that_ \-- teasing just above his groin with it, pressing against the sensitive skin and waiting for the command to let it wander lower.

_‘Can I show you?’_

God, but why hadn’t he? Yuuri had spent the whole week cursing his own nerves, groaning inwardly at how skittish he had been to jump away from the man so obediently awaiting his permission to pleasure him. _Idiot._ No wonder Viktor had been so eager to leave. Not that Yuuri’d had any clue what to do next after their shower -- he hadn’t exactly planned on even surviving their first encounter, let alone planning a second one so soon after.

But Viktor had seemed happy at the idea of seeing him again. At least, Yuuri had thought so.

And he’d seemed happy when they’d met outside the café, and happy when Yuuri had allowed him to choose his own collar, and happy when Yuuri had invited him to stay the night. So Yuuri had rushed home to shower and prepare for another scene that he’d prayed would make Viktor happy.

He hopes Viktor’s happy now, on his knees on the floor in front of him in his bedroom. He can’t see his face from where he’s sitting on his bed, but can tell by the set of his shoulders that he isn’t bored, at least. Just waiting. Just as he’d been told to.

Yuuri eyes the soft line of neatly trimmed hair at the nape of Viktor’s flushed neck. He wants to touch it, wants to run a finger down to his spine, but he needs to be patient. Take his time. He has something very important to do, and he isn’t about to rush it.

He clutches the collar in his hands tighter, inhaling the crisp scent of fresh leather deeply. It’s sleek and smooth, and so warm where it’s absorbed the heat of his clammy palms. Undoing it with trembling fingers, he then slips it carefully over Viktor’s head and around his neck, positioning it just right. The soft sound of leather sliding against metal fills the silence as he tightens and buckles the collar, soon followed by the sigh of relief he’d been involuntarily holding in. Such a simple task, and yet it had seemed to take all his strength to do it.

His fingers glide into the gap between skin and leather, checking that the collar isn’t too tight, and they pause at the side of Viktor’s neck. His pulse is beating so fast. Is he nervous?

“Vitya.”

It quickens.

“Turn around.”

Viktor obeys, and when their eyes meet, Yuuri knows he’s already halfway in his own head. Almost in that space he’d seen him in last time, so dazed and content and utterly unlike the sly and teasing man Yuuri’s gotten to know. The change still takes him by some surprise, and he has to stop himself from wondering if Viktor’s like this with any other master, or if he’s just a special case. But no, there’s no point in dwelling on that. He has a job to do.

He reaches out to pet Viktor just as he’d done before, fingers sifting through silver strands, nails dragging down the scalp the way he knows he likes it -- slow and deep. Small ripples of pleasure seem to course through Viktor’s body, causing him to fidget each time he’s touched. He goes still when Yuuri’s hands retreat, whining slightly, but is silent when they return to latch the leash onto the ring of the collar. It slips against Yuuri’s skin with a low and satisfying rasp as he feeds the length of it through his fingers.

“Vitya,” Yuuri says softly, “are you ready?”

“Yes,” Viktor whispers, nuzzling the hand that raises to cup his cheek. “Yes, Master Eros.”

With a steadying breath, Yuuri scoots further back onto the bed, giving the leash a small but firm tug toward him. Viktor hops up neatly from the floor to the bed, sitting back on his haunches and looking expectant and eager. So ready to please, Yuuri’s sure. Ready to please _him._

“Down. On your back.”

Viktor all but flops down with his tail between his legs, stretching across the length of the bed languidly before rolling onto his back. He looks up at Yuuri through heavily lidded eyes and licks his lips slowly, flashing the gold jewelry of his tongue piercing. Yuuri’s gaze makes its way down to his dress shirt, to where twin pinpricks stand out against the thin fabric.

He almost gives Viktor the command to take off his shirt, but instead decides that he’d like to be the one to strip him. Dropping the end of the leash and reaching forward, he lets his fingers trail down from Viktor’s collar slowly, so that Viktor’s tense with anticipation by the time he reaches the first button. He undoes it deftly, and each one that follows reveals more of the taut and pale skin he’s been dying to get his hands on for so long. Once the shirt slides completely open and drops to Viktor’s sides, the gold of his nipple rings catches in the light, dazzling and teasing and just as tempting as he remembers. He overcomes the sudden urge to lunge forward and take them viciously between his teeth, opting for running his thumbs over them instead.

Viktor sucks in a sharp breath and arches his back high, but Yuuri presses down on his abdomen to push him back into the mattress. He gives him a reproachful look.

“Stay still, Vitya. I’m going to play with you.”

A soft whimper is the only response Yuuri gets, then a shaky inhale when he straddles Viktor’s groin. He’s immensely satisfied to feel him already growing hard, and makes sure to settle himself so that the bulge in Viktor’s pants fits nicely between his thighs. The swell of Viktor’s chest is particularly appealing from this angle, especially as it rises and falls with the labored effort of his breathing. Yuuri’s hands, which had gripped at Viktor’s abs as he’d found his balance, wander gradually higher, traveling up his torso until they’re squeezing his pecs. They’re firm, but with enough give to press nicely beneath his curious fingers.

Unable to contain himself any longer, he pinches Viktor’s nipples lightly, rolling them slowly between his fingers. His eyes never leave Viktor’s face, watching carefully. Viktor looks like he’s trying very hard not to move, though the cock twitching beneath Yuuri’s ass betrays him. He must be as sensitive as Yuuri had guessed. Yuuri files that away for further and future research purposes.

His eyes finally drop away to trail from Viktor’s flushed face to the stark black collar against his pale throat, down past the sheen of his chest, until they rest at his glittering navel.

“You’re beautiful, Vitya,” he whispers.

Viktor tilts his head so that his silvery fringe falls coyly over his face, but he’s obviously internally preening at the praise. Yuuri reaches out and gently tilts his face back toward him, cupping his chin and looking him deep in the eyes.

“You brought something exciting for me, didn’t you?”

The spark in those eyes is all the affirmation he needs. He slips off Viktor’s lap long enough to grab for the small plastic bag Viktor had taken from his duffel bag when he’d entered the room, and when he upends it across the bed, his face heats up.

A plug and a small bottle of lube. Interesting.

Yuuri crawls back to him with these new items in hand, letting his gaze run over Viktor’s body once again. The bulge in his pants hasn’t flagged by much, and when he reaches out to brush his fingers against it, it stirs beneath the fabric of his jeans.

“Take your pants off, Vitya.”

They’re off in an instant and flung across the room, much to Yuuri’s amusement. He eyes the tight briefs next. Should he let him keep those? Maybe he’ll make him earn their removal.

While he deliberates, he pops open the bottle of lube and drizzles it onto the oddly curved plug. In the middle of smearing it over the smooth black silicone, he notices a small indent at the base. A button? When he presses it, the slick toy nearly vibrates out of his hand.

Yuuri grins.

“Is this what you want, Vitya? Have you been good? Do you deserve it?”

His answer is spread legs and a soft and breathy plea.

Yuuri traces the inside of one thigh with lube-slicked fingers, dragging out light patterns against the sensitive skin there with the edge of his nail. Viktor opens wider for him, wiggling and sighing, but goes still when Yuuri’s touch ghosts deeper between his legs. Fingers slip beneath the tight fabric of his briefs, pulling them aside just enough to gain access to his hole. It twitches when Yuuri circles the rim with maddening slowness, then clenches on the finger that finally works its way inside.

Crushing heat around him, seeming to suck at him desperately as he slides in and out, slowly, so very slowly and teasingly, eyes fixed on Viktor’s face. He doesn’t need to do this, doesn’t need to torture him, but he wants to take his time. He wants to watch Viktor sink into the mattress as easily as his own finger sinks into him, piercing and filling him over and over. He wants to watch this man completely unravel beneath him.

A pitiful whine escapes Viktor’s lips when Yuuri pulls out, quickly cutting off into a sharp yelp when the vibrating plug is pressed against his entrance instead. Yuuri stretches back his briefs just a bit more, adjusting the plug until the slick tip of it breaches Viktor’s hole at just the right angle.

Viktor lets out a low groan as it slides in, thighs twitching harder with every fraction of an inch until they’re vibrating almost as strongly. Yuuri lays the briefs back down smoothly, noting with much satisfaction that Viktor’s fully hard and straining against the fabric. He’ll have to give him a bit of attention there. But not until he’s through playing with him.

He crawls onto Viktor’s body, throwing a leg over him and turning so that he’s straddling his chest backward. Viktor’s breathing sounds a bit more labored than before, but he doesn’t move save for the twitching of his legs. Yuuri pauses to appreciate this new angle of Viktor’s body, leaning forward to flick playfully at the ring at his navel and admiring the glimmer of gold.

His fingers slip down low, teasing along his groin but carefully avoiding the large bulge laid to one side. Yuuri desperately wants to touch it, wants to draw it out and take it and make it his, but his impatiently twitching hands pause at Viktor’s trembling thighs. If he’s going to be disciplining Viktor, he should probably discipline himself as well. Viktor would have to earn it, and Yuuri would have to refrain from giving it to him until then.

What can he have Viktor do to earn it?

The uncomfortable tightness in his own pants is enough of an answer to that.

“Vitya. Give me your hands.”

Viktor obeys at once, hands raising for him to grab, and when Yuuri places them on his hips right at the waistline of his jeans, he catches on quickly. Yuuri undoes the button and zipper, leaning forward and letting Viktor strip him of both pants and briefs before settling back down onto his chest. Viktor’s hands return to his hips, squeezing him slightly, but a short and curt word puts an end to that.

_“Down.”_

Viktor’s hands drop immediately to his sides, and Yuuri rewards him by backing up until he’s hovering over his face. His own is burning, the question _‘_ __a_ m I really about to do this? _ _’_ rattling throughout his fevered mind. He crushes that thought with confidence. Yes, he’s absolutely about to sit on Viktor’s face. It’s what he deserves, isn’t it?

Yuuri tosses a look over his shoulder, unable to see Viktor but wanting his breathy command to be heard clearly.

“Show me what you can do for me, Vitya.”

He lowers himself fully, and the wet heat that meets him makes his breath catch in his throat. Viktor’s lips are so soft and warm and pulling at him in a way that makes his knees weak. Something hot and slick flicks against his hole, teasing lightly around the tight ring much like Yuuri had done with his finger earlier. He growls impatiently, pressing himself down and earning a muffled sound in response. The tongue playing around his rim finally strokes harder, in broad swipes with intermittent jabs of the tip just barely piercing his entrance.

Smooth metal slides against him with each heavy lick, and Yuuri gasps in surprise, having forgotten about Viktor’s tongue bar entirely. It’s such an odd sensation, the combination of soft tongue and hard steel, but it sets his body ablaze, and he groans loudly and hunches forward to clutch at Viktor’s waist. His thighs are trembling as hard as Viktor’s now, and they jerk in surprise when the sticky heat of Viktor’s mouth trails down from his hole and toward his balls.

He wants to reprimand Viktor for doing this without his permission, but realizes that he hadn’t told Viktor he couldn’t. That, and the feel of Viktor’s mouth working against his tightening sack has him breathing faster and digging his nails into Viktor’s skin, all thoughts of stopping to discipline him melting away.

Those lips continue to wander, moving with careful intention, and Yuuri arches his back and angles his hips to meet the path they blaze along his skin. Viktor’s slow kisses tingle on the throbbing underside of his stiff cock, closer and closer to the head, until finally the round ball embedded in his tongue is flicking against the very tip.

“Vitya,” Yuuri breathes shakily, jerking his hips down and pressing his cock past Viktor’s lips to fill his mouth. He buries his head into Viktor’s twitching stomach and pants hard as Viktor swallows every last inch of him, shuddering uncontrollably at the feel of soft lips wrapped so tightly around his cock. No barrier between them this time, only the simmering heat and wet pulse of his mouth, his throat, those _lips._

Take control, he tells himself, gritting his teeth. Right. He’s in command.

He struggles back up to regain his composure, eyes locking on the neglected bulge in Viktor’s briefs while he catches his breath. When he leans forward and brushes it with his lips, he swears he can feel the vibrations from the plug. Viktor freezes mid-suck, nearly choking as Yuuri’s mouth moves against him. Yuuri kisses along the covered length of him slowly, marveling at its size, its realness, the fact that he finally gets to play with it. On impulse, his tongue darts out to swipe at the wet spot of fabric where the tip of his cock is leaking, and he can feel each piece of jewelry implanted around the glans. Beneath the thin spandex, the contrast of pulsing flesh and hard metal is interesting -- something he wants to spend hours studying at all angles across all of Viktor’s body.

Viktor’s still frozen in apparent shock, lips loosened and unmoving around Yuuri’s cock. That won’t do.

“Vitya,” Yuuri murmurs against his briefs, getting a satisfying twitch in response. “I didn’t tell you to stop.”

Those lips tighten now in an attempt to desperately latch back on, but Yuuri raises his hips and withdraws from Viktor’s mouth completely, adjusting himself until his hole is pressed against Viktor’s face once again.

“Start over.”

Viktor’s breath hitches for a moment before he dives back in, seemingly determined to make up for his misstep. His tongue is in full force, circling and flicking and rolling and finally piercing him, rubbing along his insides as far as it can unfurl, all the while his lips work around the rim relentlessly. Yuuri lets out a loud and shuddering moan, thrusting himself down onto Viktor’s tongue and wishing it were the long shaft he’s still toying with. He slips a finger just beneath the waistband of Viktor’s briefs, pulling it lower, lower, until just the head of Viktor’s cock is poking out, flushed and gold-studded.

 _God,_ but it’s so hard to focus when Viktor’s eating his ass like this. He doesn’t think he’s ever gotten it this good in his life out of the few times he’s tried, and he wants to savor every second. But he also wants to focus on savoring every twitch and jerk of Viktor’s body, tight and tense and straining as the plug vibrates ceaselessly inside him. He can see the way his thighs shake, the way he shifts as he clenches harder and rolls his hips. Is he close? Can Yuuri make him orgasm just like this? He hopes so. But he doesn’t intend to let him come. Not yet.

And Viktor clearly needs a reminder, because the muffled gasp he lets out when Yuuri finally touches the bare flesh of his cock sounds dangerously near the edge.

“You still can’t come, Vitya. You know that, right?”

Viktor doesn’t answer, only buries himself further between Yuuri’s cheeks with what sounds like a sob. Yuuri can tell that he’s being stubborn rather than nonverbal, and lifts himself off of Viktor’s face and away from his slick tongue. Viktor frantically tries to follow, but Yuuri angles himself differently again, arching his back and jutting his hips out. His balls dangle just over Viktor’s mouth, and each soft puff of warm air against the sensitive flesh makes him shiver.

“Answer me.”

“Yes, Master Eros,” Viktor whines, and he sounds so deliciously wrecked that Yuuri wants to turn and bask in the sight, but he contains himself.

“Yes, what?”

“I know I’m not allowed to come.” Soft and wavering, with the slightest inflection of a question that he knows is futile. Yuuri won’t give in.

“Good boy.”

Lowering his hips again, Yuuri drags himself up and down the length of Viktor’s face slowly, groaning every time Viktor’s tongue flicks out against his taint. Still so naughty, so defiant in his own way. Yuuri can’t take this much longer, and Viktor must know this, because he spreads his legs wide and moans loudly and with a sense of purpose, wanting to bring his master over the edge at the sight of his desperation. And it’s working, _damn him._

With a growl so deep it surprises him, Yuuri plunges his cock deep into Viktor’s open and waiting mouth again, bracing himself against the bed as he sinks to the hilt. Quick pumps and short thrusts are all he can handle, but his hips jerk hard enough to fuck Viktor’s head back down into the mattress with a force that makes him gag and whimper.The sound rings in Yuuri’s ears and fuels him faster, harder, until he feels himself build higher and nearly burst. An idea strikes him, and he withdraws slightly when he starts to spurt, not wanting to shoot directly into the back of Viktor’s throat.

“Don’t swallow,” he manages to choke out, and anything he’d planned on saying after that abandons him as he comes hard, groaning loudly into Viktor’s groin as his orgasm takes him.

Viktor must have obeyed, because his lips remain sealed around his cock, and Yuuri can feel the thick cum still there, held securely in Viktor’s cheeks.

“Good boy,” he whispers weakly, struggling to regain composure. His thighs are quaking badly, his head still spinning, but he manages to raise himself onto his elbows without passing out. “But you teased me on purpose, didn’t you?”

He feels as though he should punish him somehow, but he also feels so sleepy, so lazy, and when he turns his face toward Viktor’s partially exposed cock, he just barely has the energy to collect the saliva in his mouth and spit thickly onto the head.

Viktor lets out a muffled gurgle around his softening cock, hips bucking and fingers scrambling at the bed cover. He sobs, then chokes, and Yuuri feels cum dribble out from around the lips still struggling to remain suctioned around him. He’s too fascinated at the sight of Viktor riding out his orgasm to care, noting with massive satisfaction that it’s a dry one. Yuuri could let this go on, let them keep coming, let the vibrator tear him apart from within, but that would be too kind of him. And so he reaches down between Viktor’s legs and under his briefs to press the base of the plug and turn it off. Viktor collapses limply beneath him, still at last and breathing heavily through his nose.

Yuuri wishes he could stay like this longer, maybe even fall asleep like this, so warm and content in Viktor’s mouth, but he withdraws slowly and very reluctantly. The air is so much colder against the saliva and cum slicked over his cock.

He turns to straddle Viktor’s lap as he had before, carefully avoiding the still raging erection, and gazes down at his lovely pet. Viktor looks just as messy as he’d hoped, flushed a deep and beautiful crimson all over. Shimmering sweat rolls down his forehead, lost among the damp strands of silver hair plastered to his skin. His cheeks, puffed out slightly, must still be full of Yuuri’s cum. He’d had a lot to give this time. And Viktor had taken it all.

Yuuri reaches out to snatch up the forgotten leash, still hooked to the ring of Viktor’s collar, and tugs at his dazed and pliant body until he’s sitting up. His face is mere inches away, his beautiful blue eyes so thick with lust that Yuuri nearly forgets what he’d planned to do, nearly pushes him back down to ravage him again. He isn’t sure why, but he has the strongest urge to make an even bigger mess of him. His previous idea crawls back into his wiped-blank mind, snapping him out of his trance.

“Open, Vitya.”

Viktor obeys without apparent thought, lips parting and cum spilling from them to dribble down his chin and throat. Yuuri watches the thick streams trickle over and past his collar, fascinated. His fingers dart forward to smear the cum that’s reached his chest, rubbing it against his hardened nipples. The gold bars are slick and glistening now, like the rest of Viktor in the light. Yuuri pinches and pulls at the jewelry, noting the soft sounds of pleasure Viktor makes in his throat. They draw his eyes back to his sweating face, to his wet lips and watery eyes.

“Such a messy boy,” Yuuri murmurs, hands coming up to caress his cheeks. Viktor leans into the touch eagerly, seeming desperate for closer contact. Yuuri swipes at the cum across his chin with a thumb, popping it past slackened lips and into a mouth that gladly receives it. The feel of Viktor’s tongue bar pressing against his skin sends a delicious tingle down his spine.

Viktor stares at him all the while, eyes so glazed that Yuuri isn’t sure if there’s anything going on behind them. Something in his face looks expectant, as if he’s waiting for the next command. But Yuuri hasn’t planned much more than this, and so he stares back. Now should probably be the time to just end the scene and practice the aftercare he’s spent so many nights trying to research. He begins by sliding his hands back into Viktor’s hair, scratching soothingly in all his favorite spots.

“You did an amazing job, Viktor,” Yuuri says quietly, hoping the sincere awe is conveyed in his words. “That was… it was really great.”

‘Really great’ doesn’t seem sufficient enough to express how thoroughly Yuuri’s world had been rocked at the tip of Viktor’s expert tongue, but it’ll have to do for now until Yuuri learns how to form sentences that aren’t completely stupid. At the very least, Viktor seems to appreciate the compliment, nuzzling Yuuri’s arm and closing his eyes with a dreamy huff. After quite some time of gentle petting, he doesn’t say anything more, so Yuuri tries to prompt him into speaking.

“Well… how are you feeling? Are you okay? Was everything okay?”

Viktor makes a soft sound in his throat, almost a dog-like whine, then leans forward into Yuuri’s lap so suddenly that he nearly topples backward and off the bed in sheer surprise. But he manages to stay upright and stable, trembling under the unexpected weight of the man now draped over him. Viktor’s arms settle around Yuuri’s shoulders, drawing him closer, and Yuuri gasps when a warm nose buries into his neck and starts to nuzzle him. A short pause later, his own hands come up to awkwardly pat the back of Viktor’s sweat dampened shirt, at a loss for anything else to do. After their last scene, Viktor had been back on his feet and grinning in mere moments. But now he’s silently clinging to him, and it’s so odd that it’s worrisome.

But Yuuri wants to keep holding him, finding his proximity comforting instead of intimidating. Which is often rare. However, the stickiness of Viktor’s skin is a reminder that they’re both a bit filthy, so Yuuri eventually disentangles himself gently from Viktor’s embrace. They can do this later, but they should really shower now.

He opens his mouth to say so, then freezes at what he swears is a soft _‘_ _please’_ from the crook of his neck. But Viktor continues to pull away on his own, eyes nearly clear and a small smile fixed on his face. Yuuri stares, waiting for some sort of explanation, because he can’t possibly have heard that right, but Viktor only raises an eyebrow at him.

“So, are you going to bathe me this time, Master, or do I have to do everything around here?”

Yuuri surprises the both of them by laughing and swatting at Viktor’s bare thigh playfully. “Very funny. Actually, you can go ahead. Might be better that way, since…” he trails off, thinking of their disastrous fall and his own massive screw-up. He doesn’t want that mistake to happen again, and if they showered separately, it shouldn’t.

Viktor blinks at him, smile still in place, but Yuuri thinks he sees it falter slightly at the corners for just a moment. Had he said something wrong? His mind races in an attempt to come to a conclusion as he frantically tries to think of something to say to put an end to this strange and charged silence.

But Viktor just slips off the bed to stretch to his feet and slip off his shirt, arching his back until it cracks. Yuuri’s eyes follow the line of his spine, from the nape of his collared neck to the dip at the small of his back, the urge to touch it from earlier coming back in full force. That urge spikes dizzyingly when Viktor slowly wiggles out of his underwear and tosses it aside. He tosses a look over his shoulder as well, smirking at having caught Yuuri staring at his ass.

“If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

And with that he’s off to the bathroom, hips swaying and leash dragging along the floor and begging for someone to snatch it up and yank hard. Yuuri, snapping out of it once the door shuts and Viktor’s very distracting assets are no longer in his line of sight, hurries to wash off quickly in Phichit’s bathroom before he starts sweating again.

*

Viktor finally steps out of his long and not-quite-relaxing shower with a heavy sigh, grabbing for a towel and burying his face in it. He almost screams into it as well, but manages to reel it in despite the fact that he’s feeling all kinds of stupid at the moment. How many times will he make an idiot of himself in front of Yuuri? Not that he should care what anyone thinks of him in his more vulnerable moments -- he’d long since grown out of that, leaving behind anyone who had a problem with his puppy tendencies without much thought. But everything with Yuuri seems to happen at once, taking him by surprise each time and leaving him… feeling stupid.

Not that Yuuri makes him uncomfortable. He does just the opposite. And a little too well.

Viktor doesn’t like balancing the line between rational thought and subspace. He’s either there, blissful and uncaring, or he isn’t, and far too aware of what’s going on. Getting caught up in that mindset twice already with Yuuri is hard enough to come to terms with, but this time in particular had been tough, as it’d taken him far too long to struggle out of it. And he’d practically thrown himself at Yuuri, which, all previous incidents considered, is something he’s trying very hard _not_ to do. He hopes Yuuri hadn’t heard his pathetic little plea when he’d been pulled away, because he’d die of embarrassment -- which he would never have dreamed possible.

But, through Yuuri, all things are possible, and so Viktor boldly struts back out to the bedroom, ready to continue making an ass of himself. He pauses halfway there and blinks at the empty bed. Yuuri isn’t there. Soon enough, the clanging of pans and faint smell of food from the kitchen tells him why.

Viktor’s eyes linger on the bits of discarded clothing littering the floor, slowly making their way up to the slightly stained bedding. The plug is still there, along with the bottle of lube. Viktor deposits the leash beside them, but leaves his collar on. He won’t take it off until Yuuri instructs him to, even if their scene is over.

And what a scene it had been. Viktor had spent his entire shower _not_ thinking about it, because if his balls became any more bruised, they may just actually explode. He’s lucky that his arousal can flag fairly quickly once he’s in subspace bliss, because otherwise he would’ve had to hobble awkwardly to the shower instead of giving Yuuri something more enticing to watch walk away.

He had felt Yuuri’s gaze on him, watching with a hunger that he himself may not have even been aware of. But Viktor knows. He’d seen it in the way his eyes burn through him, in the way he bites his lower lip as he examines his body, in the way his fingers brush and tease and drive him mad, in the low and dangerous tone of his voice when he issues a command. His master is so soft, so sweet, but with a steel beneath that Viktor wants to uncover and let break him.

All in good time. Today’s little adventure had been a body-rocking success, despite Viktor’s embarrassing moment of weakness and Yuuri’s seeming reluctance to prolong the scene. But Viktor tries not to think of that, either. Securing the towel around his waist tighter and smoothing back his damp hair, he barges out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.

“Master!”

Yuuri squawks and nearly drops the pan he’d been draining in the sink, wheeling to face him.

“Vik -- _dammit,_ you scared the shit out of me!”

“Sorry!” Viktor chirps, coming over to lean his elbows on the counter and rest his chin in his hands. “What’re you up to, hmm? Smells nice.”

“Just noodles and some leftover meat,” Yuuri says modestly as he sets out plates. “We don’t have much else right now. Sorry.”

“I’d gladly put anything you make in my mouth, Rosya,” Viktor purrs, fluttering his lashes outrageously. Yuuri seems to pretend that he hadn’t almost dropped the plate he now slides across the counter to him. He takes his own and goes over to settle onto the sofa, patting the space next to him. Viktor perks up at his effortless and silent command, all but sprinting over to join him. Yuuri looks equal parts amused and perplexed.

“Were you this cheeky with your other masters, or am I just special?”

If Viktor’s grin were any more shit-eating, he’d still be buried nose-deep in Yuuri’s ass. He curls up closer to Yuuri on the sofa, tucking his feet beneath him and balancing the plate on the towel draped across his thighs.

“Yes and no.”

Yuuri, who’d obviously been trying not to stare too openly at the way Viktor’s towel had slipped as he’d moved, stares at him, clearly not having expected an answer like that.

“What?”

“Am I an asshole? Always. Am I a special asshole just for you? Absolutely.”

“I’m not sure how to take that,” Yuuri admits after a silence in which they both stuff their mouths with noodles. He doesn’t sound too put out, but Viktor treads a little more carefully.

“However you want,” Viktor says casually, keeping the uncertainty out of his voice. Had he overstepped again? Will he ever stop saying dumb and inappropriately-timed shit? But Yuuri only laughs softly and gives him a fond sidelong look that makes his insides seize up.

“You’re weird.”

“So I’ve been told,” Viktor laments, slurping up his noodles loudly and drawing another laugh out of his master. His insides are starting to feel like noodles now, soft and warm and questionably greasy, judging by the twist of his stomach every time Yuuri smiles at him.

Conversation comes easier than Viktor had thought it would, considering the fact that Yuuri had been suffocating him between his legs and choking him with his dick not too long ago. There are moments where Yuuri seems to recall this in explicit detail, flushing and looking away mid-sentence, but he manages to recover and continue more quickly each time. Worlds away from the Yuuri who had jumped from him in the shower, but still a bit fidgety. Viktor being nearly naked on his sofa probably isn’t helping. Or maybe it is, and Yuuri’s growing more accustomed to his bare body.

“You can take that off, if you want,” Yuuri says at some point after the hundredth time his eyes have raked over Viktor’s body. It takes Viktor a few seconds to realize that he’s talking about the collar, and not the towel around his waist.

“I’d like to keep it on,” he says softly, and Yuuri’s quietly pleased look is enough to have him wagging his tail, if he had one.

But something in Yuuri’s demeanor seems to change once they clear away their plates, though Viktor can’t for the life of him figure out what or why. Yuuri looks more nervous than ever now, glancing between the couch and the bedroom and steadily avoiding looking Viktor in the face. At last, he seems to make a decision, heading off to the room without comment, and Viktor follows unquestioningly.

Yuuri clears the bed of its mess and pulls off the stained duvet before he finally turns to face him, and with the way he stares, Viktor’s half-expecting to be told to get down on his knees again. Which he’d be more than happy to do, except the food’s got him feeling a bit sleepy. But Yuuri doesn’t give him any sort of command, only indicates the bed and speaks hesitantly.

“You can sleep here, if you want? I mean, or you can sleep on the couch, or Phichit's room, or you can go home if that’s what you --”

“The bed sounds perfect,” Viktor says, heart fluttering in his throat. He’d assumed by Yuuri’s invitation that he’d be spending the night, but to be offered to share his own bed had caught him off guard. “So --”

Yuuri, however, decides that one surprise isn’t enough, holding up a hand to quiet him as he no doubt steels himself to shake Viktor once more.

“I have a request. A… a command. But only if you’re okay with it, of course.”

Intrigued and terrified and ready to die, Viktor nods. Yuuri’s face is growing redder by the second, and oddly enough, Viktor feels as though his own is trying to catch up.

“Can you… if it’s okay with you, do you think you could… I-I saw this on a pet blog and I really liked the idea,” he blurts in a rush, looking at Viktor as though wishing he could just read his mind so he wouldn’t have to speak the rest aloud. “Would you, you know… uh, maybe -- _dammit. ”_

He snatches his phone from the bedside dresser, tapping away rapidly and chewing at his lip, then shoves the phone under Viktor’s nose and looks away in apparent shame. Viktor blinks down at the screen, then almost bursts out laughing. Oh, _Yuuri._

“You want me to curl up at the foot of your bed like a dog.”

“It’s so stupid, I’m sorry, you don’t have to --”

Viktor unwraps his towel and lets it drop to the floor, putting an end to Yuuri’s horrified floundering, then slides smoothly on his stomach across the clean white sheets. He stretches slowly and arches his back, letting Yuuri admire the view, before curling up on his side and looking up at him through his lowered lashes.

“Ready for bed?”

Yuuri gets dressed for bed in a dazed way that suggests that he’s shocked that this is actually happening. He crawls under the sheets gingerly, as if afraid that moving around too much might scare Viktor off. It’s a long enough bed that Yuuri’s feet don’t quite reach him, but the mound of Yuuri’s body beneath the covers is still close enough to reach out and touch.

He watches Yuuri set aside his glasses and reach for the lamp before pausing and scrambling out of bed much less delicately than he’d gotten in. Before Viktor can ask anything, a soft blanket is thrown over him, the bulk of it hitting him square in the face.

“Sorry! I just don’t want you to get cold.”

Viktor murmurs a quiet but heartfelt thanks, the combination of his warm drowsiness and the softness of the fabric draining him of his usual teasing remarks. The blanket smells heavily of Yuuri, fresh and comforting and like a salve on aching wounds, and he’s already deeply buried within it by the time Yuuri slips back into bed and turns off the light.

“Good night, Vitya.”

Yuuri now seems closer somehow, so near that Viktor can almost feel the heat from his body through the bedsheets. The full weight of Yuuri’s proximity hits him hard, as does the fact that he needs him so much closer. And suddenly, it isn’t enough. Yuuri being so far away isn’t enough. Yuuri’s scent wafting gently from the blanket isn’t enough, because Viktor would rather be pressing his face to Yuuri’s neck, would rather be burying his nose in Yuuri’s hair as he holds him close all through the night.

This isn’t that kind of relationship, he tells himself, thinking of Yuuri withdrawing from his embrace earlier, remembering his skittishness in the shower. They aren’t like that. And they never would be, if that’s what Yuuri wants. And despite the pang in his chest, Viktor is okay with that. Because he’s wrong -- any distance is enough. Any part of Yuuri’s life is enough.

“Good night, Master.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!!! Here's a chapter of pure fluff <3

The first thing Yuuri notices when he wakes is that his feet are considerably less warm than they had been the night before. His toes wiggle reflexively, still snug beneath the bed sheets, and he stretches lazily in an attempt to seek that distantly remembered and sorely missed heat. It’d been coming off in such soothing waves from the body that had been so peacefully curled at his feet.

Memories of last night wash over him slowly, and he lets out a soft groan and buries his face into his pillow. It hadn’t been easy, trying to sleep with Viktor at the foot of his bed. He’d thought he’d accomplished the hard part just by presenting Viktor with his odd and embarrassing request without bursting into flames. It wasn’t until he’d slipped into bed that he’d realized the  _ real _ hard part -- the room settling into silence, nearby breathing coming soft and steady and hypnotic, and a warmth seeping through to his feet that had made him ache for more. The hard part had been trying to get any sleep with a very naked Viktor huddled obediently a mere few inches from him. Close enough to feel his heat, but too far to touch.

At least, that’s how he remembers it at first. As exhaustion had finally carried Yuuri to his dreams, he swears that Viktor had shifted in his sleep, making soft sounds and curling closer. Yuuri had fallen asleep with the comforting weight of Viktor’s head against some part of his leg, he’s sure of it.

Whatever the case, he’d awoken in a completely different position, and he prays he hadn’t accidentally kicked Viktor in the face while shifting in his sleep. He can’t exactly ask at the moment, because Viktor is gone, the space at the end of the bed cold and vacant. But the clatter and smell drifting in from the kitchen mean he can’t have gone very far.

With one final long and lazy stretch, he reaches clumsily for his glasses and phone on the bedside dresser, then nearly topples off his bed in surprise as voices start up from outside his door. Or maybe they’d always been there, a low and incomprehensible buzzing at the periphery of his hearing, but his groggy brain is finally tuning in to the actual words.

“ -- not always here, but you should definitely come over more often!”

Any response that follows is mostly drowned out by Yuuri noisily stumbling out of bed and sprinting to the bathroom to brush his teeth in a hurry. That had been Phichit’s voice, and he thinks he’d heard the low mumble of Seung-gil’s accompanying it. He hadn’t expected them to return so early, and had expected that Viktor would just waltz out to meet them even less. Just as Yuuri’s splashing his face with water, he hears Viktor’s laughter ring out, and heat creeps into his cheeks.

He stares at his reflection in the mirror, wide-eyed and drippy, and braces himself for what is likely to be this week’s most embarrassing conversation.

“Morning, sleeping beauty!” Phichit greets brightly as Yuuri steps cautiously into the room. He’s sitting beside Seung-gil on the sofa, the both of them looking like they’d just gotten in. But the kicked off shoes by the door and the plates on the coffee table in front of them suggest they’ve been here for some time. So, maybe not long enough to have spilled any humiliating and awkward stories about him. The album of baby photos is nowhere in sight, at least. Yuuri’s sigh of relief is loudly interrupted.

“Master!”

And there, in the kitchen piling eggs and meat onto an awaiting plate, is Viktor. In nothing but an apron.

Yuuri closes his eyes and counts to three, and when he opens them, Viktor is still half-naked in his kitchen, smile as sunny as the eggs he’s made, and Phichit and Seung-gil are glancing between them so innocently that the butter they’d had on their toast is probably still sitting perfectly unmelted in their mouths.

“Why are you naked?” Yuuri asks, deciding to skip his usual floundering and get straight to the point. It’s a futile question, however, because when  _ isn’t _ Viktor naked, and since when has he needed a reason?

“It was a surprise,” Viktor says cheerfully, nudging the full plate toward him on the island counter. Yuuri, placated by the promise of food, gives up the questioning and gives in to his appetite. Viktor winks at him as he settles into the high chair and tugs the plate closer eagerly. “I had this whole ‘sexy sub prepares his dom breakfast in bed’ thing planned, then I remembered you said you didn’t have much in your fridge. Probably would’ve given up and ordered something if your friends hadn’t come home with groceries.”

Yuuri glances over at the two men on the sofa and frowns slightly, thoughts of naked subs temporarily suspended. “Seung-gil? You really don’t have to --”

“It’s fine, Yuuri,” Phichit assures him. “We really needed them.”

Seung-gil only shrugs and sips at his coffee, and Yuuri chews at his lip nervously, at a loss for anything more to say. He’s never taken issue with Phichit’s sugar-daddy-turned-boyfriend covering his share of rent, even though Phichit is rarely ever here anymore. Seung-gil had explained that it was the least he could do for hoarding so much of Phichit’s time, and wanted to assure him that he wasn’t about to whisk away his only roommate and leave him alone and paying the rest of their lease in full. And while it’s nothing out of the ordinary for Seung-gil to pay for most of Phichit’s expenses while he dabbles in freelance photography, Yuuri had drawn the line at that bleeding over into his own expenses as well. He doesn’t need anyone paying for him, especially not his boss’ son. Far too humiliating. And what would a pampered pet like Viktor think of him?

Movement out of the corner of his eye startles him, but it’s only Viktor leaning forward on his elbows across the counter. He bats his eyelashes and speaks in a low and sultry voice that sends tingling ripples over the surface of Yuuri’s skin.

“Your breakfast’s getting cold, Master.”

The reality of the most devastatingly attractive man on the planet bare-assed beneath his own apron -- the one he’d ordered online and had shoved into a dark corner of the pantry upon discovering that it had the horrifyingly cliched ‘kiss the cook’ phrase on the front -- returns in such full force that Yuuri needs an immediate distraction. His attempt at shoveling eggs into his mouth fails spectacularly as Viktor turns to busy himself with the dishes, the full curves of his firmly toned cheeks boldly on display to the entire room.

“Yuuri, the food goes in your mouth. Not your chin.”

“Thanks,  _ Phichit. _ ” The eggs actually make it this time, and he’s pleasantly surprised at the richness of flavor. Somehow, he’d expected Viktor to be a total disaster in the kitchen. But he’s learned by now that Viktor tends to defy most expectations.

“I was just saying to Viktor,” Phichit goes on, and Yuuri hears the sweetness of his smile without having to look over his shoulder in cold dread, “that his new collar is so nice!”

Yuuri nods absently, his eyes trailing up the exposed length of Viktor’s back until they rest on the collar still fastened around his neck. Right. Viktor had wanted to keep it on, even as he’d slept. How long would that last? Is Yuuri supposed to control when and where he wears it, or is that up to Viktor? Research had been inconclusive, so he imagines they’ll have to work that out themselves. If there’s one thing he’s learned about this lifestyle, it’s that there’s more subjectivity involved than he’d expected. He’s not sure if that’s more freeing or anxiety-inducing, so he continues to inhale more egg.

“Surprised it happened so soon,” Seung-gil chimes in, and before Yuuri can process what that means, Viktor turns from the sink to answer.

“Oh, it isn’t  _ that _ kind of collar. Just one for play.” His tone is light-hearted, but almost excessive in its nonchalance. He flashes a grin at them, hand straying to the ring dangling at his throat to give it a small tug. “It  _ is _ really nice, isn’t it? Can’t remember the last time I was so happy to wear one.”

He takes up Yuuri’s plate, which is already wiped clean, and turns back toward the sink, hopefully missing the very pointed and excited look Phichit is throwing between the two of them. Some of that excitement pools in Yuuri’s stomach, not quite smothered by the embarrassment settling over it. Or maybe it’s the eggs. Whatever the feeling is, he finds that his eyes have a much easier time staying trained on the black leather wrapped around Viktor’s neck, hardly wandering from it even as Viktor comes to sit beside him.

Such a simple phrase, but it echoes throughout his mind, silencing his doubts -- if only for the moment. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be without them, but for now, all that matters is that Viktor is happy to wear Yuuri’s collar. He’s happy to belong to him. Viktor is happy, and Yuuri has the feeling that this isn’t a common occurrence for him. Which sets off his own happiness to a startling degree.

His insides lurch when Viktor fixes him with a small and secretive smile, and he decides that it’s most definitely the eggs’ fault. Delicious but deadly, just like Viktor, and the fact that he’s just compared his sub to  _ eggs _ makes him want to bury his face in his hands and scream. He looks away hurriedly, turning back to Phichit and Seung-gil before his breakfast tries to crawl up out of him.

“So,” he starts, then realizes that he hasn’t thought of a sentence to follow. Phichit spares him with the nonchalant mercy of a benevolent god, gracious hand gesture and all.

“What are you two up to today? Anything fun?”

“I don’t have anything planned,” Yuuri admits, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. He wishes he hadn’t said that, because he’s sure that Viktor will take it as a cue to leave. But to ask him to stay, despite not having anything for him to do as a sub, is to expect more out of their relationship than they’d previously discussed. And the last thing Yuuri wants to do is appear like he’s looking into things too deeply, especially if he’d potentially be met with confusion or discomfort.

He could try to come up with a scene off the top of his head to keep Viktor around, but something about having his roommate and company over has sort of killed that vibe for him. So it really does seem like this is goodbye. Until next weekend, in any case. That seems like a fair amount of time to see Viktor again without seeming desperate, and a habit they’ve already begun to establish.

But before he can turn to Viktor and begin with the ‘well, it’s been great having you here’ sort of loaded phrases, Viktor places a gentle hand on his shoulder, drawing his attention up to his face. His expression is just as soft, but with a seriousness that surprises him to the point that he almost forgets that the man is naked under that ridiculous apron.

“I was thinking of things we could do today. Like…” he trails off, something like uncertainty flickering in the blue depths of his eyes for the briefest of moments. “We could go for a walk?”

Yuuri’s face must convey that the most vivid mental image of himself strolling through the nearest dog park with Viktor collared and leashed and cheerfully crawling alongside him has just flashed before his eyes, because Viktor hastily clarifies.

“I meant with Makkachin! Sorry, I should have -- just a walk through the park by my place with Makkachin. You’ve always wanted to meet her, right?”

“Right,” Yuuri echoes, too stunned at his luck to be mortified at his mix-up. Not only does he now have an excuse to stay around Viktor for a little longer, but he gets to pet a dog, too? It’s so perfect that it’s almost too good to be true, and he watches in quiet shock as Viktor excuses himself to gather his things from the bedroom and put some actual clothes on.

“Going for walkies with your pet,” Phichit sing-songs with a smile that borders on impish. “How cute!”

Sudden realization claws its way up Yuuri’s spine, bringing with it a thousand questions. He rushes over to the sofa and nearly throws himself across Phichit’s lap, probably looking as pathetic as he feels. His overwhelming need to not fuck things up overrides his shame, for once.

“Is this normal? Do you think I’m doing a good job? Does this happen? Is it okay to… is this a date?” he hisses between panicked glances at his bedroom door.

“Haven’t you already taken him to that cafe by work a few times?” Seung-gil asks, looking unperturbed by his strange outburst. “How is this different?”

How  _ is _ it different? Yuuri wonders, worrying at his lip. The first visit had only been to meet Viktor properly for the first time, with the intention of apologizing for bailing at the fetish club. The second visit, while probably  _ technically _ a date, had mostly just been a cover for buying Viktor a collar. So… what exactly  _ is _ this, now?

“I think the kids call it ‘hanging out,’” Phichit says with a laugh, then gives Yuuri a reassuring pat on the knee. “It’ll be fine. Text me if you need advice?”

Yuuri needs all the advice in the world right this very second, but he just nods and tries not to jump out of his seat too suspiciously when Viktor emerges with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He’s finally got pants on, thank god, and a polo shirt with a collar that almost conceals the one beneath it. The strip of leather is plain enough to pass for a fashionable accessory, though Viktor’s outfit doesn’t exactly scream ‘punk’ in order to maintain that illusion. Still, he can’t imagine it’ll draw too much attention, and so he doesn’t fret about it as Viktor boldly steps outside without removing it. In fact, he secretly hopes that Viktor will keep it on for the rest of the day, and even after they’ve said goodbye.

Settled into the passenger seat of Viktor’s Cadillac, it isn’t until he’s waved off by his friends that he realizes several things that are just the  _ slightest  _ bit important. They’re headed to Viktor’s apartment to pick up Makkachin. He’s going to see Viktor’s place for the first time. Would Viktor actually invite him inside? Would his roommates be home? Would they ask him things? Horribly embarrassing things? What if they expect him to actually be  _ impressive? _

He does a quick mental checklist of what he recalls from his brief club encounters with Viktor’s roommates in addition to what Viktor’s mentioned of them in passing. There’s Georgi, the overdramatic club owner who may or may not have cursed a man once -- Viktor had been very vague about it, refusing to elaborate. Then there’s Mila, the whip-happy red-headed exotic dancer. She seems to have more sense than the rest of them combined, so if he were to meet anyone, he’d hope for her. Worst case scenario would definitely be Yuri, the sneering bartender. With zero patience and even less kindness to spare, he seems the least likely to welcome him with open arms. Or maybe Viktor’s exaggerating about his foul temper.

Whatever the case is, the only thing Yuuri’s certain of is that this morning will seem like a tea party in comparison to the fresh hell he’s about to enter. If only the seats of Viktor’s car were a little less solid, so that Yuuri could sink into them and be out of sight by the time Viktor parks and turns to give him an expectant look.

“Coming?”

But he hops out of the car without waiting for an answer, and that’s how Yuuri finds himself hovering uncomfortably in the doorway of Viktor’s spacious and lovely apartment. He sees immediately that the universe seems to have offered him a trade-off. Only one of Viktor’s roommates is home. That roommate, however, happens to be the Worst Case Scenario.

Yuri doesn’t look particularly happy to see him walk in, glaring between him and Viktor suspiciously. He tenses in a way that reminds Yuuri of a jungle cat ready to either pounce or flee. The abundance of leopard print on his person may be contributing to that mental image.

“Don’t tell me you’re here to fuck. I’m  _ trying _ to study.” 

Yuuri can’t tell exactly what it is he’s meant to be studying, since his laptop is firmly shut and his textbook is lying in a sad and splayed-open heap on the floor beside the sofa he’s sprawled across. But the look of affronted distaste he’s aiming at Yuuri sure makes him feel like he’s interrupted something very important.

“You’re just watching cat videos,” Viktor corrects him cheerfully, bouncing on the balls of his heels and beaming. Yuri drops the phone he’d been holding onto the cushion beside him as though he’s been burned, grumbling in annoyance. “Yura, this is --”

The sound of frantic skittering from the hallway interrupts the introduction seconds before a massive brown blur bounds into the room, barking excitedly and barreling toward them at an alarming speed. Viktor, still grinning, drops to one knee and holds out his arms expectantly.

“Makka!”

With a high-pitched whine, the poodle swerves, zooming right past Viktor to launch herself directly at Yuuri’s face.

Yuuri sputters in utter surprise, trying desperately to avoid a faceful of slobber as Makkachin’s tongue flaps at him incessantly. She’s a big girl, and his knees almost buckle under her weight as she rests her paws against his chest to lick from a better angle. He wants to laugh, but he’s worried about getting to first base with Viktor’s dog before Viktor himself.

“Makka, down!” Viktor speaks sharply but not unkindly, and with a loud  _ whuff _ , Makkachin drops back down and pads over to Viktor obediently, tail a happy blur. Viktor, back on his feet, huffs at her before scratching behind her ears. “Oh, so  _ now _ you notice me, huh? Come on, let’s go get your harness. Yura, try not to kill our guest while I’m gone!”

And then he disappears into the hallway with Makkachin, and Yuuri is left standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room with an almost-stranger. A very disgruntled almost-stranger. Yuri can’t seem to decide if he wants to glare at Yuuri or glare at his discarded textbook, but he’s doing a pretty decent job of managing both. 

In a moment of probable insanity, Yuuri steps forward, scoops up the poor textbook from off the ground, and holds it out in an awkward offering. Yuri’s nostrils flare. Yuuri squints down at the cover of the book, desperately trying to think of something to say.

“So, uh, Statistics, huh?”

He barely finishes the sentence before Yuri snatches the book from him, and for a moment he wonders if it’ll get tossed right back onto the floor. Instead, Yuri lays it on his lap and gives it a sullen stare. He may actually be pouting, and Yuuri would laugh if he weren’t so terrified of being shanked to death at any given moment.

“I shouldn’t have to take this stupid class just for some stupid credit. I’m a Dance Major, this shit is  _ useless. _ ”

“Oh? What kind of dance?” Yuuri asks curiously. That earns him a suspicious look, and he’s quick to answer the oncoming ‘what the hell do you know?’ “Did a few years of ballet as a kid. Thought I’d end up an athlete, but that didn’t really work out. Took up pole for about seven months with my roommate just last year, so that was pretty cool.”

Yuri stares at him like he’s just grown two extra heads. Yuuri is tempted to pat the sides of his neck to make sure that isn’t the case. He isn’t sure if the silence will kill him before Yuri does, but before he can place his bets, Yuri sits up straighter and leans forward, fire blazing in his green eyes.

“Okay, well, I prefer contemporary, but obviously they want you to be versatile, which I am because I’m fucking  _ good,  _ so yeah, I’ve done ballet -- but not pole, that’s not my kind of thing, and it reminds me of that weirdo shit Mila and Georgi do at the club -- I mean, I guess it’s kinda cool but I’m not into that shit, you know? But Beka -- he’s the bouncer, mean-ass mug and an undercut? He’s a DJ and he produces his own stuff sometimes and he asked me to dance for a music video or something, so I told him to fuck off because it’s a joke, right? But he keeps asking, so I was like, what if it really --”

“Good  _ god _ , Yura, don’t talk his ear off!”

Yuri flushes a bright red and sinks back into the couch, scowling at Viktor as he enters the room with Makkachin trotting at his heels. Yuuri, still reeling from the unexpected rambling he’d been bombarded with, takes a few stunned seconds to realize that Viktor’s changed his entire outfit. Shiny black boots, distressed jeans, a tee so faded that Yuuri can hardly decipher the logo, and what is unmistakably a black leather jacket. He looks… cool. It sounds stupid in Yuuri’s head, but so do most things, so he just focuses most of his energy on gaping wordlessly. He isn’t sure why such a simple outfit has such an effect on him, considering he’s seen Viktor in much more tantalizing ones, but the blood creeps into his cheeks when Viktor winks at him all the same.

“Thought it’d help the collar blend in better in public, since you seem like you’d be embarrassed by it. It’s very ‘punk,’ yeah?” Viktor says cheerfully, not sounding very punk at all. In fact, he’s downright  _ adorable. _

“That’s my jacket, asshole,” Yuri growls, but with a strange lack of conviction. Viktor tosses his bangs imperiously and gives him a knowing and rather condescending look.

“This is the jacket you accidentally ordered about three sizes too big and dumped onto my bed because ‘only my freakish yak shoulders could fit into it.’ So I’m pretty sure it’s  _ mine. _ ”

This sounds like an argument they’ve had more than once, so Yuuri is ready to politely dissociate for the next several minutes while they hash it out again. But Yuri caves and faces away, letting out a massive huff that sets his blond hair fluttering as he finally opens his math textbook. Viktor turns to beam at Yuuri now, and he takes that as his cue to scramble forward so they can get the hell out already.

Makkachin, strapped up in her bright pink rhinestone-studded harness, bounds happily out the door the moment Viktor opens it, and Yuuri follows their lead with an awkward half-wave goodbye at the back of Yuri’s head.

All things considered, it hadn’t been that bad. He’s leaving in one piece, after all.

*

Viktor takes a moment to stretch just outside the doors, giving Makkachin time to sniff around the nearby hedges. It really is a lovely day for a walk -- overcast with just the right amount of breeze, though hopefully not the kind that brings rain. Good thing he has this fantastic jacket that Yuuri absolutely adores on him. He can still see him staring out of the corner of his eye. Turning back to him, he inclines his head in the direction of the park and grins.

“It’s only a couple blocks away. We usually just walk.”

Yuuri nods and falls into step beside him, looking a bit ruffled, which Viktor studies curiously for a few seconds. Although his ass does look quite breathtaking in these designer jeans, he’s got a feeling that Yuuri’s thoughts and concerns are elsewhere.

“I think your roommate hates me. Do you think the others will, too?” Yuuri finally blurts, then looks horrified with himself. Viktor tries very hard not to laugh, and settles for a lopsided grin instead.

“If you somehow got Yuri to open up and start blabbing at you, odds are he doesn’t hate you. Mila would find you very charming. And if you’re nice to Georgi, he’d die for you. Nothing to worry about.”

Yuuri nods again, chewing at his lip and not seeming to fully register his words. Viktor casts about for something more to say to reassure him, but it all sounds the same in the end -- and not very helpful or convincing. As much as he trusts his bizarre roommates, there’s no way to make Yuuri see that through words alone. Yuuri would just have to trust him on this.

Makkachin pauses to sniff at a tree now, and Viktor sees this as an opportunity to draw Yuuri out of his thoughts the only way he knows how to -- through something stupid and inappropriate.

He fishes a small black plastic bag from out of his pocket, handing it over to Yuuri wordlessly. Yuuri takes it without question, but frowns at him in confusion, then in dawning disbelief.

“What, you’re gonna make me pick up after your dog?”

“No, I’ll take care of Makka,” Viktor says, patting his pocket to indicate another bag and grinning so deviously that  _ surely _ Yuuri must know what’s coming. “ _ That _ one’s for me.”

Yuuri makes a strangled sound that hopefully contains a laugh but mostly contains a single horrified shout of ‘ _ Viktor! _ ’ and flings the bag back at him, but the breeze snatches it and blows it right back into his face. Viktor gets a nice glimpse of Yuuri’s look of shock before it’s swallowed by fluttering plastic, and it’s so delightfully hysterical that he bursts out laughing.

Bent almost double and wheezing, he finds that his mirth is short-lived when Makkachin, mistaking his lowered face as an invitation for a sloppy kiss, leaps up to slobber onto his cheek. He yelps and straightens up just in time to avoid a faceful of tongue, but not before Yuuri, free of his plastic bag prison, notices and lets out a massive snort.

“Down, Makka,” Viktor says with a mock-pout, and the poodle obeys and continues on her merry way. Viktor shoots Yuuri an almost apologetic grin as they resume their pace. He may have made an ass of himself, but he managed to get Yuuri to smile, and he’d do it a thousand more times.

“Bad dog,” Yuuri says to him, the quiet ruthlessness of his tone betrayed by the twinkle in his eye. “The baddest.”

Viktor’s ready to launch into full-scale theatrics over being called a  _ bad dog,  _ but they’ve finally reached the park, and he thinks better of it. Makkachin begins straining forward at the sight of the other dogs in the distance, wanting to sniff every moving creature in range, and Viktor has to attempt to keep one eye on her and one eye on Yuuri. 

Yuuri seems content and relaxed as he takes in the scenery, which is exactly the sort of reaction Viktor had been hoping for. Bringing him here had been Viktor’s idea of encouraging him to open up more in a casual setting, expanding the parameters of their relationship to outside the bedroom, if only as friends. He’d honestly been terrified that Yuuri might decline his invitation, which he’d pulled out of thin air after sensing the impending goodbye Yuuri had been preparing in his kitchen. And now here they are, Yuuri taking in breaths of fresh air and Viktor trying to quietly rehearse everything he’s ever wanted to say to him.

But careful planning has never been Viktor’s strong suit, and so he wings it.

“So. Last night was fun.”

Predictably, Yuuri’s ears flush pink, and his eyes dart around cautiously before he answers. “Oh! Yeah, I… I had a great time.”

He frowns slightly as he says it, and Viktor can just imagine the mental berating he’s giving himself. Yuuri is the type to second-guess his thoughts, to wonder if he’s trying too hard or just not enough, and describing their scene with something as mundane as ‘a great time’ probably falls into the latter category.

“It  _ was _ a great time,” Viktor says before the storm clouds brewing across Yuuri’s brow break into a torrent of apologies. “You were incredible, Yuuri. You’re the best I’ve ever had. Really, it was mind-blowing.”

Yuuri bites his lip a little and looks away for a moment, but Viktor can see him glowing from the praise. “ _ I _ should be telling  _ you _ that. You deserve better. I wish I could...” he makes a vague gesture, as if he wants to say more but can’t quite phrase it right. Which Viktor understands perfectly. “But it isn’t enough, is it?”

“Words aren’t everything, you know. And anything from you is enough,” Viktor says, more earnestly than he’d intended to let slip. But why should he hold back? If there’s ever a time to be more earnest, more honest, more painfully and embarrassingly sincere, it’s now. The time for testing the waters is coming to an end, and Viktor is ready to take the dive, no matter what mysteries are lurking beneath the surface of Yuuri’s mind. At worst, he’ll strike his head on the rocks of uncertainty and die. But, at best...

“We should probably try to talk about this more, huh?” Yuuri says, voice sheepish but smile wide. It distracts Viktor from the long-winded monologue he’d been spinning in his head about feelings, and he almost trips over Makkachin trying to get his thoughts back in check. Something about rocks and dying? Honesty, sincerity, not holding back --

“Yes! This is about communication. Our relationship. Our arrangement, I mean. Between us. Yes.”

He’s unraveling fast, and Yuuri’s giving him a look that’s surprisingly unreadable. It’s almost searching, and Viktor, not used to anyone analyzing him but himself and too used to his oddities being shrugged off as incomprehensible and undeserving of deeper inspection, feels strangely unnerved. And a little thrilled. 

“Communication,” Viktor continues, trying to stop Yuuri’s eyes from boring into his soul, “is important for this kind of thing. Safe, sane, consensual -- it goes beyond just physical. You can tell me how you’re feeling about all this, even if it takes time for you to get your thoughts together. But I’m sure you know all that by now. And if you have any questions, always ask.”

“Same to you,” Yuuri says quietly. So quietly that Viktor notices they’ve drawn away from the noise of the other park-goers and their dogs, away from the rush and bustle of the street. It’s just the two of them and Makkachin slowly winding their way down the little trail, heading toward the back of the park.

“Me? You’re the one with all the questions and doubts, right? It’s not easy, being new to this. I know. I was there once.”

“But you have doubts too, don’t you? Fears?”

“What makes you think that?” Viktor wants to kick himself for that. Preaching about communication while deflecting a straightforward question is so typical of him that it’s almost laughable. He’s got to shake off this defensiveness.

“I feel like you don’t let yourself get too deep into things. Like maybe you don’t want people to see when you’re…” Yuuri trails off, as if worried that he’d been a little too forward. And maybe he had been, but maybe that’s just what Viktor needs.

“Vulnerable?” Viktor tries not to say it too wryly, but it’s hard to keep the tone from his voice. The concept of being vulnerable is foreign to him, yet manages to somehow hit too close to home. Of course, he can’t pretend that he doesn’t  _ want _ to be vulnerable. The desire to submit to someone wholly is the reason he prowls clubs like Exhibition, is the reason he’d pursued Yuuri with such enthusiasm after their first encounter. Except now he’s got exactly what he wants, but no idea what to do with it. 

It seems easy, logical, almost infallible. Find the right master and let him break you in all the right ways. As it turns out, it’s harder than it seems to just let someone  _ truly _ own you, and it’s taken Viktor until Master Eros to come to that surprisingly simple conclusion. It’s taken Viktor until Master Eros to come to a lot of conclusions, and he promises himself he’ll take the time to examine each one carefully from now on.

They come across a wide bench and take a seat, Makkachin splaying out by their feet to rest. Viktor turns to Yuuri only to find him staring back, the aura of someone about to blurt something out rolling off him in waves.

“When we… when we finished last night, and when you held onto me… did you -- I mean, were you… okay? You can tell me. But you don’t have to. I just want to make sure you were okay.”

Viktor should have been expecting that, but his stomach still drops as he recalls the small and desperate plea he’d whispered when he’d been gently pulled away from Yuuri’s embrace. Even now, it doesn’t make much sense to him. He’s so utterly shameless in his outright thirst for this man, in his outrageous flirtation and his frantic begging for sexual humiliation. None of that embarrasses him. And yet, that little ‘please,’ that tiny bit of vulnerability, had shaken him out of the headspace he’d been in so deeply. He’d known that it had been too much. Or had it been?

His eyes meet Yuuri’s, warm and brown and so patient, and he dives. Rocks be damned.

“No, I don’t think I was. I wanted to stay like that forever. I didn’t want to let you go.”

Yuuri’s cheeks flush, eyes widening, but he holds his gaze long and steady. And in that gaze, he holds Viktor -- mind, body, and soul, all of him frozen in place and quivering precariously at the edge of Yuuri’s trembling lips. This man could make or break him in a single word, and for the first time in his life, Viktor thinks he truly understands the meaning of vulnerability.

“If I’d known that, I would’ve… I’m sorry, I didn’t realize --”

“Not your fault,” Viktor interrupts gently, but Yuuri shakes his head.

“Not yours, either.”

“Fine. No one’s fault, then.”

“Right.”

Silence falls, only half as uncertain and tense as Viktor had suspected it might be. The relief he feels is too powerful to let anything negative settle over him. He’d just been open with Yuuri, and Yuuri hadn’t seemed to have any problem with it. He appears to be thinking hard now, brow furrowed again and eyes gleaming behind his glasses. Viktor’s gaze trails the curve of his cheek, down to his slightly bitten lips, down to the fists balled on his lap. Will Yuuri ever feel completely at ease around him? Free to speak his mind? To let his feelings be known without crushing self-doubt? Or is Viktor expecting too much too soon for an arrangement that’s hardly lasted a few weeks?

He doesn’t want to expect anything from Yuuri. He just wants to know what he wants.

“Yuuri. What do you want me to be to you?”

That earns him a startled look, then a puzzled one. He tries again.

“I’m your pet, of course. But I want to know if there’s anything else you want me to be. A friend? A lover? Your boyfriend? I’ll try my best,” he adds with a wink, but his charm falters and falls flat, his heart pounding as Yuuri gives him another slow and searching stare.

He’d really just said that. He’d really just laid his ass bare for all to see, for  _ Yuuri _ to see, and now he  _ must _ see it in his eyes -- see the words, thoughts, and feelings that Viktor’s never in his life even considered. The words, thoughts, and feelings he’s never felt allowed to have.

_ ‘Boyfriend.’ _

_ Idiot. _

A hand closes over his own with a delicacy that jolts him. He’d hardly realized he’d been on edge and gripping the slatted metal of the bench beneath him, knuckles pale and palms beginning to sweat. The soothing heat from the tips of Yuuri’s fingers relaxes him instantly, giving him the strength to meet that warm and determined gaze.

“Viktor. I just want you to be yourself.”

He wants to laugh, because he should’ve seen an answer like that coming. But part of the delight that is Yuuri Katsuki is not knowing, not expecting what’s next, even if it ends up being predictable. His master keeps him on his toes, that’s for certain, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I know it’s a stupid and cliche answer,” Yuuri goes on, grinning apologetically, “but it’s how I really feel. You don’t have to worry about changing yourself to fit my needs.  _ I _ don’t even know my own needs. So just be yourself, and I’ll be myself, and we’ll meet in the middle. Makes sense, right?”

Viktor does laugh now -- he laughs at the sheer simplicity of it, shoulders quaking with the freedom of having a heavy burden slip from where it’d always felt perpetually perched. Him, be  _ himself? _ Not live up to other’s expectations? Not fabricate and rebuild himself with every new encounter? It’s so  _ simple. _

Maybe his giggling is best kept internal, because Yuuri looks a little embarrassed now, as though unsure if he’s being mocked. Viktor takes up his hand in both of his own and squeezes reassuringly, thumbs caressing his knuckles.

“Yes! It’s perfect. Thank you, Yuuri.”

Yuuri’s smile is like the hidden sun emerging to warm him through, even despite the damp breeze that shudders past. The sky may be darkening, but he’s never felt so full of brilliant light in his life, holding onto Yuuri and basking in his glowing presence. He shines like gold, like something precious that Viktor wants to keep close and never let go. 

But he has to let Yuuri slip through his fingers, because Makkachin stretches to her feet and looks at them expectantly, and they take that as their cue to drag themselves up and continue wandering the trail. Idle chatter flows a lot easier now that they’ve cleared the air between them, and when Viktor, on impulse, slings an arm over Yuuri’s shoulder, Yuuri burrows in closer and wraps an arm carefully around his waist. They must look like the picture-perfect couple right now, strolling through the park in each other’s arms with their gorgeous poodle trotting ahead of them, and that gives Viktor an idea.

He hands Yuuri the leash and slips his phone from his pocket, waving it in front of him cajolingly.

“Yuuri, let’s take a selfie! Please?”

He doesn’t even need to put him on full blast with the massive puppy-dog eyes, because Yuuri nods and is already smiling for the camera, grip tightening slightly as he pulls him a little closer. Viktor would swoon if he weren’t trying to make sure he achieves the perfect angle with the most ideal lighting. It only takes one try, to Viktor’s great astonishment. Truly a miracle, and surely because Yuuri has graced the photo with his beauty.

“We look cute,” Yuuri says, sounding so quietly pleased that Viktor wants to sweep him off his feet and squeeze him.  _ He’s _ the one that looks cute, and Viktor just looks like the sort of douche that smokes by the back door of punk venues because he’s too cool to go inside. So like Yuri, basically.

“Can I post it?” Viktor asks lightly. He’s never shown anyone photos of his new master, not sure if Yuuri would even want to show his face. His kink Instagram has made that clear enough.

Yuuri hesitates, then nods slowly. “Yeah. Sure, that’s fine.”

“Okay! ‘Out for a walk with Master,’” Viktor reads aloud as he types the caption, giving Yuuri a devious side-eye. Yuuri blushes and leans closer for a better look. Viktor makes a point of adding many heart emojis, and a dog emoji for good measure.

“We’ve never taken any photos together, have we? I wonder what people will think.” Yuuri sounds a little worried, but when Viktor glances back at him, the hint of a smug smile is tugging at the corner of his mouth. A smirk, even.

“They’ll all be  _ very _ jealous,” Viktor says, flicking his fringe out of his eyes glamorously. “Though jealous of  _ who _ , we’ll never know. Probably both of us.”

He’s half-expecting some sort of modest comment from Yuuri about how no one in their right mind would be jealous of Viktor for having a master like  _ him _ , but Yuuri says nothing, that same immensely satisfied look still on his face. The firm fingers on Viktor’s waist tighten just a little bit more, a silent but clear declaration --  _ mine. _

Soft rumbling reverberates in the distance, and if it hadn’t been for the clouds thickening overhead, Viktor might have thought it’d come from deep within himself -- a low and content purr to match the tingling vibrations coursing through his body at Yuuri’s touch.

But it’s just thunder, and the drops on Viktor’s brow are just rain, not beads of sweat at having Yuuri so near, and so he relaxes and laughs. He laughs when the rain comes down harder a few moments later, laughs at Yuuri’s shout of surprise, laughs as they run toward the nearest shelter, nearly slipping across the slick grass and into steadily forming mud puddles, and soon the only sounds in the world are his laughter, the pounding of rain, and Makkachin’s paws beating against the earth beside them. By the time they make it to the little picnic shelter, he’s almost breathless, bent over with his hands on his thighs and wheezing. He looks up through strands of sopping bangs to watch Yuuri gingerly wiping off his glasses with the driest patch of shirt he can find.

Yuuri pauses to squint at him. “What’s so funny?”

He’d laugh again, if he thought his lungs could take it. Instead, he steps closer -- so close that he’s dripping onto any last precious dry spots on Yuuri’s person -- and grins in a way that makes Yuuri’s eyes widen in realization. But he isn’t fast enough.

“This!”

Viktor shakes his head rapidly like a dog after a bath, wet hair flying about his face and getting into Yuuri’s mouth, judging by his sputtering. Laughter bubbles up through his weak protests, and Viktor’s devilish grin softens at the sound.

“Y-you’re so  _ weird _ , you -- MAKKACHIN,  _ NO! _ ”

Yuuri is, once again, tragically too late, because the soggy and overexcited poodle has parked herself right beside him and now shakes in a perfect imitation of her master, except with much more hair and therefore a substantial amount more water. Yuuri groans and accepts his impromptu shower in defeat, leaning forward into Viktor’s shoulder to sulk.

“Why do dogs have to  _ do that. _ ”

“It’s how we show our love,” Viktor says smoothly, turning his head so that his lips graze Yuuri’s ear. Yuuri stiffens and straightens back up, clearing his throat.

“Well… what now, anyway?”

Viktor looks out toward the curtains of rain that have been drawn around their tiny sanctuary, the sound of droplets drumming against the roof of the shelter nearly drowning out Yuuri’s quiet question. They’d ended up in the one near the back of the park, along the uninhabited trail they’d taken. Which means a long walk back. A long run, rather, with plenty of tripping and slipping and busting their asses on the way.

“Have to wait it out, I guess. Come on.”

He draws away to the picnic tables, perching on the end of one and letting his legs swing off the edge. Makkachin follows and rears up to place her paws in his lap and whine at him to scratch behind her ears. He obliges, fingers working through her fur and down to the ring of her harness to unclasp her leash. Yuuri’s still holding the other end of it, and it falls limply to the floor as he watches the poodle trot off to sniff around the shelter.

“She won’t run off?”

“Nah. I’d take her everywhere without a leash if it were allowed, really.”

Yuuri nods and turns his attention to the rain falling in heavy sheets, all the while absently winding the length of the leash around his hand. Viktor takes this quiet moment to let his eyes wander over the curve of Yuuri’s jaw, the hollow of his throat, the hint of skin color showing beneath the soaked white shirt. When his gaze finally makes its way back to Yuuri’s face, he’s surprised to find him staring back rather boldly. Slowly, Yuuri’s eyes make the same sweep Viktor’s had, and every place they pass over prickles with heat. Not one to be shown up, Viktor makes a show of slowly stripping off his sodden jacket. It had helped to keep him somewhat dry, but he hopes his damp shirt is clinging to the planes of his body just as alluringly. Yuuri’s eyes settle on his face again, his expression unreadable.

“You look like a drowned puppy.”

Taken aback, Viktor lets out a bark of laughter, and Yuuri’s accompanying laughter seems relieved, though his smile isn’t exactly innocent.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help it.”

“That’s okay, I love it when you’re mean to me,” Viktor purrs, batting his lashes. Yuuri’s laugh is more sure now as he takes a step closer and smooths back his rain-slicked hair.

“Yeah? Because I can be pretty mean.”

If Viktor hadn’t already been dominated into spineless putty several times by this man, he might have laughed out loud. He does it anyway, because flirting with danger is high on his list of kinks.

“Do your worst, Master.”

Yuuri’s close enough to touch now, looking mischievous in a way that both thrills and worries him. He’s really gotten himself into it now, but he has no desire to escape. He’s too intrigued by the fire burning in Yuuri’s eyes, the thick brows above them furrowing in determination.

When Yuuri clips the end of the leash to the ring around Viktor’s collar, he nearly slides off the edge of the picnic table in shock, gasp hitching in his throat.

“Someone could see us,” he blurts, not really caring but knowing that this is usually something Yuuri frets over.

Yuuri, however, seems entirely unbothered. “Not in this rain. If I can hardly see out, they can hardly see in. We’re safe.”

“You’re teasing me,” Viktor murmurs, realization rolling over him like the thunder above. “Exhibitionism  _ without  _ the exhibitionism. How cruel.”

“Compromise is key,” Yuuri says very matter-of-factly, and Viktor can’t help but grin with pride. Yuuri’s fingers trail along the ring of the collar, playing with the metal clasp of the leash. “Do you like it? Does it feel good? I can take it off if it’s too much.”

“It’s perfect.”

It’s strangely calm within the shelter, within the eye of the storm raging around them, and Viktor feels a sense of quiet inner peace he hasn’t known in quite some time. He’s very literally on the edge of his seat right now, thrumming with excitement and anticipation, but there’s a sense of calm, of something nameless and soothing that allows him to melt beneath Yuuri’s touch when his fingers trail above his collar and against his bare skin.

“You really like this, huh?” Yuuri murmurs, fingers wandering up to stroke behind his ear. “The idea of being watched.”

“Mmhmm. And you don’t, right?”

It isn’t something Yuuri had ever explicitly stated, just scrutiny on Viktor’s part. His master has always been quick to make sure no one’s watching, no one’s within earshot. But there’s a boldness to Yuuri that often takes him by surprise, even in public, so he isn’t too quick to rule out the possibility that Yuuri might have a bit of an exhibitionist flair deep within him.

Yuuri gives a half-hearted shrug and looks away, ears growing pink. “Well, I might? It just… doesn’t feel right, even if it might feel good? Does that make sense? I don’t want people to watch if they don’t want to, I mean. Gives people like us a bad name.”

Viktor nods, very pleased with this observation. It’s a common mistake to assume that all people who participate in kink, especially exhibitionists, do so in every public area they can find and without any shame. But Yuuri seems to understand the basics of ‘don’t pull unwitting parties into your scene without their consent,’ so he’s clearly on the right path. And far more considerate than many of the doms Viktor has met.

“If there was a place,” Yuuri continues, more to himself than to Viktor, “maybe I could… try…  _ oh! _ ” 

He tugs at the leash suddenly in his excitement, sucking in an apologetic breath when Viktor grunts and rubs at his neck.

“Sorry! Sorry, I just thought… if you want, we could -- we should go back to the club next weekend. We should go back to Exhibition, and I can… I can show you off. I can show you off to everyone.”

Show him off. Yuuri wants to  _ show him off _ in front of a crowd, the pair of them the envy of the entire club, watched by dozens as Yuuri…

“And what’re you going to do to show me off, hmm?” Viktor leans forward slightly, voice dropping low and eyes following suit coyly. A finger under his chin tilts his face up, making his breath catch as he meets Yuuri’s smoldering stare.

“You’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you, Pet?”

Viktor plants his hands firmly on the table behind him and leans back onto them, heaving an exasperated sigh. “You’re so  _ mean _ to me.”

“It’s how I show my love.”

Something warm builds at an unnerving speed in Viktor’s chest at these words, but he quickly quashes it. Only a teasing echo of his earlier remark, nothing deeper to it. There’s nothing more to the soft look Yuuri is giving him, the shy but unfaltering smile playing on his lips.

_ This, _ Viktor thinks suddenly, alarming himself.  _ This _ is what he keeps doing. Crushing his own hopes before they even fully form in his mind, in his heart. Shouldn’t he dare to dream? Isn’t he supposed to be open about his feelings? Isn’t that what they’ve just spent the last hour or so discussing? They can’t have made all this progress just for him to fall flat already.

He spends too long puzzling over this, because Yuuri’s already turning away to look at the rainfall again. Viktor loses his train of thought, too distracted by the few drying strands of black hair plastered to Yuuri’s forehead, the soft sheen of sweat and rain along his cheek, the movement of his throat as he speaks.

“It’s starting to lighten up. I can almost see again. I should probably…”

His fingers toy with the latch of the leash, then pause, becoming more hesitant. Viktor stills, waiting for Yuuri to continue, and for a moment he thinks he might. But the twitching at his throat is just Yuuri’s hand trembling, he soon realizes. Yuuri’s breathing has quickened, eyes darting up to flick between his own and the space just beyond his head. Viktor marvels at the level of redness his face has achieved in such little time.

“Viktor. Today was… it was more than I’d ever thought it would be. More than I’d ever thought you’d allow. I’m so happy that I got to have a little extra of your time today. I really like doing this. I really like… you.”

Viktor’s feeble inner protest of ‘that doesn’t mean anything’ melts away as Yuuri places a tentative hand on his knee. Such a light touch, the heat of his hovering palm barely seeping through the soaked fabric of his jeans, and yet it renders Viktor utterly speechless. He’s reminded of their first encounter at the club, of him being on his knees at Yuuri’s feet. Speechless. Powerless. He’d never felt more at home in that moment.

He feels like he might know what home is now, sitting in a wet and mildly uncomfortable heap atop a splintering wooden picnic table, the rain dulling the world around them, and Yuuri’s hand at his knee, other hand at his throat still scritching absently against the clasp of the leash attached to his collar. The collar that proves to the world that he belongs to him. To Yuuri. Maybe not forever, but at least just for now.

And it’s enough for him.

He wonders if he should answer, if he should offer some sort of confirmation that he’d understood, that he feels the same, that ‘I really like you’ pales in comparison to the leaping, galloping, singing, glowing warmth in his stomach at the mere thought of his smile. He wonders if Yuuri knows, because he looks so certain, so intensely intent, so utterly in control of himself as he moves forward to slot himself neatly between Viktor’s limply dangling legs. He fits like a dream, like a ship coming to harbor, like something lost coming home.

Viktor’s never considered himself the nervous and indecisive type, but as Yuuri’s eyes trail down to his lips, tongue coming out to wet his own, he feels so small, so vulnerable, so powerless and unable to do anything but stare. But he’s never been so happy to give up the reins, never been so relieved to relinquish control. He’s never felt so satisfied to sit back and settle in another’s palm, as small as he is, and let them take everything he has to give.

A soft puff of breath against his lips reminds him not to think so much. Yuuri’s laughing a little, familiar self-deprecating smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

“I’m sorry this couldn’t be more romantic.”

“What?” Viktor’s voice cracks slightly, but he hardly hears it above the pounding in his ears.

Yuuri leans in far enough for Viktor to know what’s coming, but not so far that he closes the gap between them. Seconds seem to pass into eternity before Yuuri responds.

“Our first…” he murmurs, hovering like a silent question, and Viktor answers, swallowing the last sighed word as their lips meet.

For what feels like the first time in his entire life, Viktor gives in.

It isn’t like giving in during a scene, during subspace, where submission is expected and carefully planned for. There’s something infinitely more vulnerable about the way he melts into the hands that raise to cup his face. His lips, which had once pulled so hungrily at Yuuri’s body, now move with delicate care, not wanting to break this, not daring to lose this. He’s caught between Yuuri’s fingers, caught between his lips, so soft and yet so demanding, and they draw the strength from him until he’s weightless, formless, lost in a haze that’s lovely and terrifying all at once.

And warm. So very warm, even through the slick of rain and sweat. An inexplicable heat shivers down his spine, kissing each ridge with building intensity until it feels like the sun is pooling at the small of his back, a molten searing of the skin that makes him shift and twitch.

It’s unbearable, he realizes, eyes rolling behind their closed lids as Yuuri takes his bottom lip between his teeth. It’s overwhelming, it’s robbing him of all sense and driving him out of his mind and into one that’s wild and untamed. And he loves it. He wants more, opens his legs and his mouth to more,  _ more _ \--

But the universe decides that he’s had enough, because Makkachin chooses that moment to hop up on the picnic bench and paw at them for attention. Yuuri jerks back, startled, and Viktor nearly collapses into a useless puddle without Yuuri’s hands keeping him upright. To his great disappointment, the leash is quickly unclasped from his collar, and with good reason -- the rain has slowed to a light drizzle, and they’re completely visible to anyone walking by. Not that there are many people out and about, anyway, but Yuuri still clips the leash back onto Makkachin in a hurry, his face flushed a brilliant red.

“Um,” Viktor says very suavely, still trying to process what’s just happened. “Uh?”

Yuuri glances back at him, offering a small smile and an extended hand to help him down from the table. It’s approximately a two-inch drop, but Viktor and his wobbling knees accept the help gladly, threading his fingers through Yuuri’s and hanging on even after his feet hit the ground. He fumbles for his jacket, tossing it over his shoulder while frantically trying to think of something to say in the meantime.

“That was really great,” he finally blurts, feeling his face heat up.

Pulling him out of the shelter and back onto the trail beneath feather-light droplets, Yuuri looks him over, grin widening. “Just ‘really great,’ huh?”

“ _ Mean _ ,” Viktor mumbles, but follows along in the deepest bliss, letting Yuuri lead the way home.

*

Their hands don’t part ways until they’re back in front of Viktor’s apartment, when Viktor dips in quickly to drop off Makkachin before they make the drive back to Yuuri’s place. Yuuri doesn’t want to let go, but it’s either that or risk a second awkward encounter with roommates, and so he leans against the side of Viktor’s car instead, waiting. The rain has slowed to a stop, the sun peeking out between clouds once again and making him feel warm and drowsy.

Or maybe it’s just the strange daze he’s been in ever since they’d left the park. Ever since he’d kissed Viktor.

He’d  _ kissed _ Viktor.

His fingers brush his own lips lightly, as if he’d be able to feel the ghost of the other pair that had been pressed to them. Viktor’s had been so soft. Which he’d already known, considering the parts of his body those lips had been thoroughly acquainted with. But this had been different. They’d never felt softer than they had against his own, parting and sliding and yearning and desperate. Desperate for him.

When had anybody ever been desperate for him? Such an impossible concept, yet it’s happened right before his eyes more times than he’d dared to dream. He’s still coming to terms with it, but on the heels of that is something greater and even more puzzling. What had been the difference between the shameless way Viktor begged in the bedroom and the quiet desperation he’d melted into at Yuuri’s kiss? It had seemed so unlike him, to not be in his pet mindset and still open himself in such a display of vulnerability.

And is Yuuri being open enough in return? Is he meeting Viktor where he is, or is he dragging him down with his own uncertainties? He can’t help that deep down inside, he still expects to wake up one morning and discover that it’s all been some elaborate prank, or that he’s been in a coma for several weeks. It’s the irrational part of him that refuses to back down, even with irrefutable evidence thrown in its face to prove how wrong it’s been. But it’s been growing quieter, that cruel voice of unreason. Especially around Viktor.

They’ll be okay, a much kinder voice tells him. The confidence that comes over him at that thought is sudden, or maybe it’s been there all along and he’s never taken the time to notice. But he does now, focusing on it and refusing to let it go. They’ll be okay. They’re still new to this, still new to each other, still in the process of understanding and communicating. They’ll be okay, as long as they stay true to themselves.

And maybe Yuuri isn’t too sure who ‘himself’ is, exactly, but being around Viktor makes him feel closer to finding out. 

Viktor finally emerges, keys in hand to unlock and open the car door for him graciously, and it’s all Yuuri can do not to grab him and press him against the window for another long kiss. The gentle slip of Viktor’s fingers against his waist as he settles into his seat certainly doesn’t help the urge, and he has to take a deep breath to calm himself. 

As Viktor hops into the driver’s seat, Yuuri realizes that he’s still wearing the same damp clothes, minus the jacket, and is suddenly too keenly aware of his own clothing. He wants to apologize for getting the car wet, but Viktor clearly doesn’t seem to care. Just as he’s wondering why Viktor hadn’t taken the time to change, Viktor pulls something out from where he’d tucked it under his arm and tosses it at him.

“Sorry, I don’t think I had any pants to lend, but I hope this is fine.”

It’s a white long-sleeved shirt, slightly faded blue stripes running across the soft fabric. With a nod and a murmured ‘thanks,’ he peels off his wet shirt and slips on the fresh one, acutely aware of Viktor’s eyes glued to him all the while. The shirt is too big, especially around the shoulders, but it’s dry and warm and smells like Viktor, and so he never wants to take it off.

He never realizes how incredibly drained he is from a day’s work until he’s sitting in a car at the end of it, and exhaustion washes over him now, though he tries his best not to nod off, even as Viktor’s soft voice lulls him. He makes attempts to answer Viktor’s ramblings in affirming yet short words to show that he’s listening, but at some point Viktor quiets, reaching for his hand and stroking a gentle thumb over his knuckles for the rest of the drive.

He doesn’t know the car has come to a stop in front of his home until Viktor leans toward him to dig his nose into his shoulder.

“We’re here, Yuuri.”

“Mmkay,” Yuuri yawns, turning to bury his face in Viktor’s hair instead of doing anything useful. They stay like that for some time, sighing softly every so often, until Viktor finally clicks off Yuuri’s seatbelt and pulls back.

“Okay, sleeping beauty, you’d better head to bed before you knock out in my car.”

Too warm and content and groggy to want to move, Yuuri reaches out to pull him closer, finding that the sudden lack of Viktor in his immediate proximity is unbearable. Viktor melts helplessly in his hands once more, drawn in like a moth to the flame, and it’s fire Yuuri feels in the pit of his stomach when their lips meet again. It’s a slow and lazy kiss, but Viktor makes a sound so soft and sweet that it awakens something in Yuuri, refueling him with an energy he’d thought had been long gone. He sits up straighter and tugs Viktor in even closer, delighting in the small grunt of surprise that elicits. He wants to surprise Viktor always, wants to fulfill his every fantasy in ways he’d never guess coming. Ways that would blow his mind again and again.

Viktor makes a louder sound when Yuuri’s tongue slides into his mouth, hot and slick and teasing against the length of his, moving delicately against the smooth jewelry as if it were a precious pearl. Yuuri can tell that Viktor is edging on desperate again, squirming in his seat the way he’d started to twitch on the picnic bench at the park. It’s maddening enough to make Yuuri want to push him down and mount him and make him squirm harder than he ever had in his entire life, but for the moment he settles for breaking away to trail kisses down his jaw and to his neck, lapping at sweat and rainwater and a hammering pulse.

Soft and breathy gasps shudder from Viktor’s lips with every movement of Yuuri’s mouth, and they deepen into throaty moans the more Yuuri nips and sucks at his skin, teeth grazing just over the top of the leather --  _ his _ leather -- around his neck, making a master’s mark for the world to see. It ends in a loud whimper when Yuuri wraps his finger around the ring of the collar and pulls Viktor down to slip the tip of his tongue into his ear, and Viktor shivers so hard that it might have been a sob.

“ _ God, _ ” Viktor breathes.

Yuuri’s lips curl into a smile against the curve of his ear. “Master,” he corrects him.

“Master,” Viktor whispers reverently, turning to kiss his cheek softly.

Yuuri pulls away and, with  _ massive _ satisfaction, notes Viktor’s utter dishevelment and shock. Silver hair mussed, blue eyes wide, cheeks ruddy and lips trembling. He looks almost like a puppy, wired and awaiting further command. Not fearful, but awed in a way that leaves him speechless and hardly breathing. It causes something within to Yuuri crumble -- maybe one of his many walls, maybe some of the whispering words of doubt that plague him -- and he’s filled with such radiant warmth that it makes him smile, giddiness bubbling in his throat and threatening to choke him.

Viktor blinks at him. “What’s so funny?”

Yuuri thinks of their morning, of their awkward encounters with odd roommates, their playful walk with Makkachin, the words and feelings they’d shared for the first time in either of their lives, the feel of Viktor melting in his hands within the shelter beneath the rain, the way the world had stopped just for them, for only a precious moment. He thinks of the new emotion trying to make itself known within his chest, and sees what he prays is a similar emotion make its attempts on Viktor’s face. And it all makes him laugh.

He leans forward to press one last gentle kiss against Viktor’s lips, laughing into it and feeling Viktor do the same.

“This.”

As Yuuri waves the garish pink car off and watches it disappear into the sunset, he wonders if Viktor had understood. He wonders if he himself even understands. And maybe he doesn’t -- not truly, anyway.

But he knows he can’t wait to find out.


End file.
